


they were stablemates

by juicecarver



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Related, F/F, Mutual Pining, Or Is It?, Pre-Time Skip, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24464416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juicecarver/pseuds/juicecarver
Summary: as with most things, it starts with chores
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 34
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ingrid finally see's her stable duty partner, she's not impressed.

Everyone had off days--Ingrid understood that as much as anyone else as Sylvain's unofficial babysitter. When her stable partner finally arrives three days and two hours late, she's clinging tightly to a soldiers arm. They're flitting soapy eyes at each other, and any ounce of remorse Ingrid has spared falls through the stable drains.

"You're late," Ingrid states. 

Her stablemate glances up, a sickening sweet smile on her lips despite the scowl Ingrid shoots her way. The brunette plants a gentle kiss on the soldier's cheek and shoos him away with a wink.

When he leaves the premise, the brunette sighs. "Men can be so eager sometimes. Makes you lose track of time."

"It's two hours past meeting." Ingrid's arms are crossed.

"It seems you're correct," she gasps. She bunches her hair behind her, raising her arms up to collect it in a ponytail. "I'm sure you're tired from taking the pegasi on rounds." Her voice is sweet, and she imagines it makes some men weak to their knees. "I can take over here. You go on ahead and enjoy your afternoon."

Her arms remain crossed, but Ingrid draws a blank. Flashbacks of Hilda pushing stable duty onto unsuspecting souls cross her mind. She assumed her current stablemate was a similar breed, but the comment washes her suspicions away. "I see." She considers forgiving the other girl for her tardiness. After all, she seemed reasonable enough to take over the remaining duties. Pegasus duty consisted equal portions flying and maintenance, and the other woman accepted her fair share of responsibilities.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" Ingrid asks.

"You're quite eager aren't you." She winks and Ingrid brows scrunch up uncertainly. "Don't worry darling. The days of torturing Ferdinand are long gone."

Ingrid nods and about faces towards the stable to the door. There's a skip in her step. Once again, she's brought justice to the campus of Garreg Mach, and she's very excited for a self-indulgent celebratory lunch.

\--

The second time her stable partner is late, Ingrid is rankled.

"You're late," Ingrid points out. Her stable partner's strides are confident, even without a man at her side.

"Would you look at that--you're right. By two whole hour--how thoughtless of me." Her sighs exasperation is no short of a full performance. "You must be tired. Why don't you find your way to the dining hall and enjoy your afternoon."

"Why are you late?" Ingrid plants her feet firmly on the hay strewn dirt, ignoring the gesture to depart from the stables. "You never explained why you didn't show up the first days as well."

The other woman's arm rests at her elbow, and the other under her head as she contemplates the question. "A bit rude of you to pry on another person's life, don't you think?" The friendly mask of ease the other woman expertly wears slips in the formed of furrowed brows. "And regardless of my timeliness, I'm still completing my share of work."

Her foot lunges forward on it's own, her voice louder than she expects. "It's the principal of the matter. Regardless the amount of work you complete, you've failed to meet at the arranged hour."

A strained breath escapes from the other's lips. "What do these formalities matter if I complete the work I'm assigned? In the end I clean the pegasus droppings while you go on and enjoy your breakfast."

Ingrid grits her teeth. "Alright, castings your flawed notion of punctuality and teamwork aside for a moment, explain why you missed the first three days of stable duty?"

Forest green eyes dart around the stable as if searching for the answer. "Ferdinand was so kind to offer his assistance, so I accepted."

"Unbelievable." She throws her hands in the air and they sound against her legs when they come down. The thought of tearing her hair out was tempting, but she threw the thought aside. "I haven't had breakfast. I will see you tomorrow." She about faces, storming out of the barn.

"See you tomorrow at 10!" The woman chimes at her.

"Stable duty is at 8!" It takes every ounce of her willpower not to march back in and ruin the rest of her afternoon.

\--

Sometimes Sylvain could be useful. His skirt chasing antics has caused no less than a lifetime of headaches, but for once, his distasteful hobbies provided an ounce of helpful information. She followed his instructions, finding Annette's room and traveling two doors north. How he happened upon this information, Ingrid did not want to know, but her fear of prying into unwanted facts also left her at the mercy of his pranks. She could only hope the room she stood in front of belonged to her stablemate.

She pounded on the door. "Time for stable duty." There's no response. Her ear presses against the door, and she's surprised to hear a chair scraping against the floor. 

Ingrid tries again. "I can hear that you're awake. We have a quarter till 8. Let's go."

Footsteps from the other side approach the door. "You're up early. How did you happen upon the location of my room?"

"I'll let you know if you come out." 

A beat. "No thanks."

"Good. Then I'll see you- ah, no?" Her mouth is ajar. She struggles with the right words. "What do you mean, no?"

When she answers, her voice stretches from father away in the room. "I'm quite busy this morning, dear. I'll catch up with you like yesterday."

Words catch in her throat as she's struggling to vocalize a thought that isn't a stream of expletives. "What could possibly be so important that you can't wait till the afternoon? The pegasus are waiting." The volume of her voice is quite inappropriate considering the hour.

"You know how these things go. School demands we spend every waking hour tending to studies." Beyond the door, she hears the thud of a book against the desk, teasing her patience.

Her arms cross and her heel clicks rhythmically against the floor. "You can study after tending to the pegasus."

"Could you repeat that? I'm terribly engrossed in the second chapter of reason magic theory. Come back later, perhaps 10?"

A deep breath enters her lungs and leaves with half the vigor. She didn't want to resort to this, but Ingrid vowed to herself last night that she would get her partner to the stables this morning. She was determined to see that objective through. "Last time I'm asking--join me."

There's a laugh from the other side of the door. "A tempting suggestion, but I respectfully decline."

There's a loud crash as Ingrid slams into the door. The door hurls open, swinging violently back on it's hinges. In the space where the door would have been stands a heavily breathing Ingrid. "Stables. Now."

Her partner opens and closes her mouth. She rises to her feet, gaping at the girl in front of her and her exposed entrance. "You broke my door?"

"You left me with no choice." Ingrid's states, rubbing the shoulder that took the impact.

"So you decide to break in to my room?" She stomps her foot as her arms gesture toward the open doorway. 

Ingrid sighs. "I promise I will fix your door. In the meantime, join me to stable duty." 

The other girl runs her hands through her brown locks, inhaling all the while. "Unbelievable." She paces back to the center of the room, hands pinching the bridge of her nose. "You nobles are really something else."

Something about the way the words were spoken sent a shiver up Ingrid's spine, but she wasn't one to falter in the face of an attack. "What does nobility have to do with punctuality?"

The other girls eyes narrow dangerously at Ingrid, but she holds her ground, feeling the hostility but not allowing herself to succumb to it. The other woman turns away, mumbling something about a similar demon Bernadetta encountered weeks earlier and her hands run through her brown locks. "Alright, you win. But I need my door."

It's a quarter till 9 when they reach the stables. In that time, Ingrid somehow managed to patch up the door. Even more surprising was that her stable partner managed to fix her hair, apply make-up, and put together an outfit. The feat would have taken Ingrid at least a week to even brainstorm. Ingrid passes a scone to her stable partner. The other eyes her suspiciously, but Ingrid goes on about the dangers of working on an empty stomach, and she takes it. The remainder of the trip is morbid. The early morning is void of distracting chatter the busy monastery would usually provide. The hour only offers polite nods from staff blinking sleep from their eyes and birds chirping in the distance.

There's a hop in her step when the stables are in sight. The eager pegasus are shuffling in their stables at the sound of their handlers approaching the premise, and their restlessness is intoxicating. Dirt flies up in the stable where horses stomp, and Ingrid is at their side in a flash.

"Sorry I'm late. I got caught up this morning in a few things this morning." The four pegasi she overlooks eagerly bump against their oak stalls, but Ingrid speaks softly, stroking their noses with either hand. 

With a full hour to brew in their own unease, it took some time to get them calm. When they've mellowed enough to where Ingrid knows they wouldn't fly off all at once, she unlatches the door of two pegasus known to be the most reckless. She dresses them in their harness. The reigns are in her hands and she turns to hand them over to her stable partner.

"Hazel's especially rowdy this morning, but take your pick." Ingrid gestures to her stable partner, whose eyes are cast on the ground.

She doesn't speak, doesn't budge from her spot. The only movement is her hands idly stroking the ends of her hair. "I don't mean to offend you, but I'd rather not exercise the pegasus."

Ingrid picks up on the shake in her voice when she speaks. "Are you... afraid of them?" Ingrid tries. Oh dear, Ingrid is not used to handling emotions. A wave of dread hits her like the hilt of Felix's sword as she remembers the episode of this morning.

The other girl shakes her head. "I'd much rather stay on the ground."

"I- I see." Ingrid's glad she has the pegasi reigns in her hands so she doesn't make a complete fool of herself fumbling with her arms. Instead her face contorts into several expressions, bouncing between probing on the topic to consoling. "I'm sorry," she bows so her back is parallel to the ground. "I am not very good at these things. I should have taken the opportunity to understand your situation." Shut eyes allow her to concentrate on her own thoughts and to avoid facing whatever expression her stable partner was making. 

Ingrid's ears are hot, and before the silence can settle in, she thrusts one harness to her stable partner. "I'll fly this one. And the others. Could you start on the other tasks, if you're comfortable." Her eyes are trained at the door. Ingrid doesn't look back to see what expression her stable partner makes as she exits the barn and takes to the skies.

Ingrid hopes she never has to return to the ground.

\--

As with all wishful thoughts, her goals of avoiding difficult conversations had to end somewhere. She takes the pegasus on the longest route around the monastery. At some point she feels the steed losing elevation. There's a moment when she considers making a third lap, but the pegasus gruffs with exhaustion. She weighs the options--a restless horse or the inevitable conversation with a stablemate. The first seemed quite appealing, but thinking of the three pegasi stirring up in their stables, she yields to the latter.

"I'm back," Ingrid's voice is more meek than she intended as she leads the pegasi into the stall.

Her stable partner is standing by the stall of the next pegasus to be flown, hands crossed in a familiar pose. "You're late." 

Ingrid's raises her brow. Was she... copying her? "Pegasus was especially rowdy this morning so I took her out for a little longer." It wasn't completely false. She trades one reign for the other, keeping her eyes trained on the intricate patterns drawn out by scattered hay and dirt on the ground. Tension in the air seemed to dissipate since she was last on the ground, but Ingrid still felt mortified at the thought of discussion.

The next three pegasi flights are a breeze, and much to Ingrid's relief, aren't accompanied by a snarky comment. It's nearly noon when the two finish distributing the final bit of pegasus feed. When the last barrel is in place, Ingrid throws her arms over her head and stretches toward the sky. "Finally, I'm famished"

Her stable partner is fanning herself with her beret. "Touche. I could eat a horse."

Ingrid snorts, but she catches herself. Her body freezes. Considering the events of the morning, she couldn't believe she actually laughed. It was definitely inappropriate considering the events of the morning. She looks over at her stable partner, shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry about your door."

"You should be. I liked that door." The other woman pouts, her hands draw up to wipe away alligator tears. "But I do appreciate you for accommodating."

"Of course. Nobody should be forced to do things they're not comfortable with." Ingrid knows she's rambling, but she's exhausted and the tension has been building in her chest all morning. She feels the need to air her thoughts. "I thought you were avoiding stable duty just to skip out, but I was quick to judge. Thank you for working with me... partner."

"It's Dorothea, partner," she mimics.

The fact dawns on her like a meteor falling from the skies. Names. Right. "Pardon my tardiness. Ingrid," she introduces while doing her best to ignore the flames creeping on her ears and neck.

Well, that wasn't the worst way to spend the week, Ingrid thinks to herself as they head to lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-indulgent Dorogrid because I need to feed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, the saga continues.

At the end of the week, Ingrid approached professor Byleth on the stable situation. Details about Dorothea's exact situation were spared, but Ingrid briefed the professor on the obstacles faced on duty. She could never tell what the professor was thinking, but she took the small nods as a sign of understanding. 

So when their names appear for stable duty again, Ingrid is more than a surprised. She asks the professor for justification, thinking there was a misprint. Byleth simply pats Ingrid on the shoulder with a proud smile and tells her to continue achieving perfect results.

She sighs, thinking she'll never understand what goes through their professor's brilliant mind.

Her feet shuffle against the dirt floor as she blinks away the dust and sleep from her eyes. The first day of the week was a struggle for no reason other than it being the start of the week. She opens the barn door, her yawn rivaling the volume of the creaky metal hinge as it swings open. The stable is a gentle symphony of hooves clacking against the dirt floors as the majestic animals rise for another busy week. Her eyes half-lidded, peers into the stalls of the most reckless pegasus.

There is hay in the air. Ingrid swishes her head around, and her heart nearly leaps out of her chest when she feels a pair of hands jolt her shoulders. Ingrid screams, falling back onto the stable door, the pegasus behind her clacking nervously in its space.

Laughter fills the air as Ingrid stares up at an amused brunette. "Not funny," Ingrid states, brushing dirt off her pants as she rises.

Dorothea's laugh continues to bounce off the wall. "I beg to differ. That was quite entertaining."

"I didn't see you come in." Ingrid points out. She hoped she wasn't so fueled with drowsiness that she missed seeing her stable partner come in.

"Well, yes. That's because I saw you come in." Her smile is wide and there's a glint in her eye. 

Ingrid freezes. She takes a moment to observe the barn. Her stomach drops deeper as she collects the details--manes are tended and water troughs are filled. She eyes the area in the stable where Dorothea hid from her view earlier to initiate the surprise. The slot was a fine nook in the corner of the stable wide enough for a body to crouch down undetected.

"You're late!" Dorothea sings, her voice all too indulgent.

"Th-that doesn't count! And I'm not late, you're early!"

"It's about the principal of the mater," she says sternly. Her arms crossed over her chest as she mimics the lines with crunched brows.

"I do not sound like that!" Ingrid's arms are to her sides and she's stomping her feet.

Dorothea chuckles. "I'm teasing, Ingrid. I needed a bit of revenge to start my week."

Ingrid rubs her temple with one hand. "You're insufferable."

"See you tomorrow." She blows a kiss on her way out.

Oh, it's on.

\--

Ingrid's boots are on long before the sun is up. Last time she'd been awake at this hour, a poor girl was crying at her door. She'd been awake at an hour that should have been illegal for any human for the sake of consoling a girl entangled in Sylvain's distasteful hobbies. Unlike then, her heart is thumping eagerly in her chest this morning as she makes her way to the stable. 

She peeks in through the stable doors, listening closely to the hum of horses shifting idly in their stables. No stable partner, she notes to herself, striding into the barn. She peers into each stall, careful to ensure she didn't miss any wandering traces of what may have been an early riser scheming.

A smile creeps on her face as she finishes looking through each stable. The opportunity for surprises was endless, and Ingrid played scenarios of hiding in hay stacks to climbing onto the rooftop in her head. She paces, wondering when the other woman will turn up, and decides to make the most of her time by taking the pegasus out to spread their wings.

Her eyes are trained on the barn the whole duration of the rides, looking out for traces of brown locks approaching the large double doors. Schemes for surprising her stablemate birth in her head while airborne. The thought of Dorothea's surprised yelp as she swoops behind her with a pegasus rouses an eager smile. She plays through several other scenarios as she rides two other pegasus in the air.

Doubt rises in Ingrid's chest the last horse lifts into the air. The sun is peeking out in the distance and she hears the gentle clamor of the monetary waking up. To top it all off, she feels sleep catching up to her in the form of an unwarranted yawn. She's entertained the idea of her stable partner showing up at any minute to exhaustion, and the bobbing heads below become a blur. Schemes in her mind melt down to mere hopes that her stable partner will even turn up. When she lands, the sun peaks fervently over the horizon. 

"You're up early." A voice sounds behind her as she's ushering the last pegasus into it's stable.

"You're not." The pegasus is well into the stable, but Ingrid trains her eyes maple door.

A sweet scent wafts through the air and something warm presses against Ingrid's cheek. "My apologies, dear Ingrid, though I hope you'll forgive me."

She blinks, raising her hand to the warmth on her cheek. Her heart squeezes when she recognizes the flaky texture. She's finally turning toward Dorothea, who's smile is as intoxicating as she remembers. "You tricked me." Her voice is barely above a whisper. She takes the pastry from the other woman with the reluctance of an unfortunate student agreeing to train with Dimitri.

"I'm not sure I follow." She bats her eye, her long eyelashes extenuating her innocence. "How did I trick you?"

"I thought..." Ingrid shuffles her brain for a reason. She was the one who decided to arrive early to stable duty, but following the trick from yesterday, Ingrid believed the other woman would do the same. True, their quarrels last week lead to a silent agreement that the two didn't have to arrive at the stables together to complete the work. She settles for grunting, hoping that the warm sunlight masks the heat blooming onto her cheeks. "Nevermind, forget what I said."

"Oh Ingrid, you are just adorable," she laughs, and Ingrid is very focused on her pastry. "I got caught in some plans with a gentleman late last evening that extended till this morning, so I had the displeasure of missing you surprises. But I'll try not to be late anymore."

Ingrid waves a lazy hand. "Don't worry about being late--I'm sure there are things you have to tend to. But pastries are always acceptable."

"If you're going to be this nice to me, I might just take advantage of you one of these days."

Her brows furrow. "As if. I'll break down your door again."

Dorothea completes the remainder of the stable tasks and Ingrid enjoys the afternoon in the cafeteria.

\--

The next two days of stable duty proceed much like the first. Ingrid mulls over the theory of Schrodinger's Dorothea in the morning. The theory hypothesizes that the woman is both ready to scare her in the stables or several hours late at any moment before the barn doors open. The first day, her theory is debunked when a drowsy stable partner trudges in, on time, and Ingrid is too shocked to surprise her. She did earn a high pitched yelp and a near complete thunder spell sent her way, but definitely worth it. The next day, Dorothea arrived minutes after Ingrid, catching her in the midst of burying herself in a stack of hay. They spent the rest of the afternoon picking fodder off of each other. 

On the last day, she's walking to the stables this morning long before the sun is up. Events of days prior primed her circadian clock to work against the dark dawn hours. Her heart raps eagerly against her ribcage as she pulls open the cold metal handle to the barn. 

The first thing she notices is that the water troughs are empty. Boots tread lightly over the floor as she takes note of other traces left by a crafty stablemate being present in the barn. There's a hop in her step when she notices that the fodder is untouched. Ingrid searches the stables, ensuring that she didn't miss a crouched body. Her lips slide into a smile as she thinks of the perfect place to hide away before her stablemate arrived. If her track record were any indication, Dorothea would be arriving at any minute, and Ingrid had to be prepared. Her stops when she checks the last stable door.

The stables were never at full occupancy due to endless demand for cavalry for spontaneous overnight missions. This was one stalls left devoid of a horse, and in it's place, a sleeping Dorothea resting on a makeshift bed of hay. Even on the barn floor, Dorothea manages to look flawless. Long lashes contrast against her fair complexion, and her hair sprawls into effortless swirls against the golden hay. It almost seemed like a crime to disturb the sleeping beauty, but continuing to stare would be rude. 

"Rise and shine," her voice voice is hoarse, vocal cords till warming up to the morning.

The girl on the floor twitches in her sleep, shifting her body to cover her eyes with her arms. "No thanks."

Ingrid bites her lip to stifle a laugh. She shakes Dorothea's shoulder. "Get up so you don't catch a cold."

Dorothea mumbles an incoherable comment. She sits up slowly. Sleep clouds her eyes as she yawns and stares at Ingrid. Hay sticks out of her hair, and Ingrid wishes Ignatz were here to immortalize this historic moment. Dorothea's face dances into several expressions in the span of a minute--apathy, irritation, confusion, realization, embarrassment, in that order.

The only sound for a while is the gentle clamoring of hooves against the stable floor. "Well, that backfired didn't it."

"Possibly. Though you did succeed in surprising me," Ingrid responds. She unbuttons her blazer, sliding the garment over Dorothea's shoulders and rolling up the sleeves to her blouse. "But you're freezing, so promise me you'll never do that again."

She smiles, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "I'll try my best."

Dancing through the morning tasks is second nature by now. Ingrid takes the pegasus out flying, and Dorothea tents to the feed, water, and hygiene. When Ingrid lands with the pegasus, Dorothea is there to greet her with the reigns of another winged stallion. They've perfected the movements with such expertise that Ingrid is riding out the last pegasus just as the sun begins to rise.

When the last pegasus is in the stall, Ingrid stretches her arms over her head. Her shoulders make a satisfying pop. "I can't believe we've been doing this for five days now."

"Ten if you count last week." Dorothea sits on a block of hay, an arm propped behind her as she fans herself with her free hand.

"You were hardly there for half of the days," Ingrid snorts.

A hand falls in a grandiose display on her forehead. "My kind, strong Ingrid, able to bear the weight of two days without me."

"Oh hush," Ingrid rolls her eyes. "Any guesses for who's on stable duty next week?"

"You don't think she'll torture us another week?"

She hums to herself. "If history is any indication, she doesn't keep the same pair for longer than two weeks."

"A pity. I really enjoyed seeing your cute expressions in the morning," she pouts.

Ingrid struggles to form coherent words. "Dorothea," she manages to sound mildly accusing. "I see you in class everyday. There's no difference."

"Oh, but there are no pegasi in the classroom for you to make doting eyes at."

She's ready to make a rebuttal, but none come to mind. "That's true," she concedes.

"So, why is Ms. Bad-Tempered you favorite?" Dorothea gestures to a stall at the far end.

Ingrid shakes her head, "If you think that's Ms. Bad-Tempered, you haven't seen brown nose get fussy."

The last day of stable duty is spent introducing the pegasus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea is a tease and she knows it. Ingrid is endearing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea's a good teacher.

Relief and disappointment wash over her at the sight of the new chore pairings. Bernadetta and Petra are responsible this week stables this week and Ingrid contemplates whether Byleth is a sadist. Petra was known to be a ruthless stable partner and Bernadetta... well, she's Bernadetta. 

Ingrid hears a groan behind her and turns around. "Bummer. You and Dorothea aren't paired together this week."

She shoots him a glare from the corner of her eye. "Remind me why that makes you upset, Sylvain."

His signature toothy grin indicates he's in the mood to test her patience. "You've been so occupied with Doro this week, I had the freedom to get around campus." 

Her eyes widen in horror. "How many fires did I miss."

Hands wave in the air in a mocking attempt to count fingers. "Three, four maybe?" He instinctively swings his body away from an expectant punch from the blonde. "Kidding! Sorta. I will definitely need your help in a week. Leave your room unlocked so I can hide out?"

"My door is staying locked, and you can live with broken bones."

"Don't be like that. Don't you miss me surprising you at night." She's heading out of the room before he finishes his sentence.

\--

Lances and swords are both made of metal. Both have designated areas to hold and to strike, but the similarities end there. The lance is thin, long, graceful. Swords are clunky, heavy, thick. The stances are different. The centers of gravity are different. The lance is an extension of herself while the sword is an ill fitted prosthetic.

When the professor adds swordplay to her lesson plan, a desperate Ingrid approaches Felix for his tutelage. The blade is second nature to him in the way the lance is to her, but Felix taught like he socialized, which is to say not at all. Ingrid will ask how he achieves fluid strikes, and he will respond with a snarl. "Like this," he says, waving the metal around. Watching him proved to be a more helpful than not, but Ingrid will go to bed with questions on her mind and movements playing in her head till dawn.

She's in the sparring grounds later than usual one day. Her evenings are traditionally reserved for studying tactical theory and crestology. Syncing her training days with Felix has proven to be helpful, but she can only take so much of his scowling. She lunges for what feels like the hundredth time. Her arms are screaming at her, but she can hardly feel the movement committing to memory. The motions feel clunky, which is enough motivation for Ingrid to continue.

"You're up late."

Ingrid is out of breath when she turns toward the voice she hadn't heard since last week. "Dorothea. Have you been well?" 

Dorothea strips off her academy jacket and rolls up the sleeves of her white shirt underneath. She stretches an arm over her chest. "My mornings have been lonely without you, but quite the same otherwise. And yourself?"

Her hands reach over to her water pouch, downing the liquid in greedy waves. "Catching up with the drama of Sylvain's conquests."

Dorothea's collects her tail in a ponytail above her. "Remind me again how you're involved in his romantic adventures?"

"I'm the one cleaning up after his mess!" The wooden sword she's holding smacks against the ground. "Somehow I've found myself on the hit list of half the women in town because my room is his favorite hideout."

"Have you pretended to be his girlfriend?"

She shuts her eyes tight. "They're bitter memories that happened once too often."

"He hasn't stolen your lips, has he?"

She nearly drops her sword. "Oh goddess no. That... atrocity being my first. That'd really be a nightmare."

"Oh he's not so bad, Ingy. Manners and habits aside, he's quite the looker." Dorothea eyebrows raise as if to accentuate the point. 

Her face scrunches as if she smelled the daily catch. "Please never mention that again. My head might implode." She's careful, wondering if she'll overstep some unspoken personal line. Alas, her curiosity wins over. "Truth be told, I learned where your room was from him."

Dorothea eyes the selection of wooden swords and plucks one from the masses. "He was quite persistent about wooing me for some time, but we've come to a mutual understanding and meet occasionally over tea. Spar with me?"

Ingrid nods, holding her stance and reading the sword in front of her. "Sounds like him." Their wooden swords clash, warming up to one another's strikes. "Did you ever date him?"

"Prying into my love life? How bold, Ingrid." Dorothea catches a flustered Ingrd off-guard and taps her chestplate. "No, we haven't dated."

"I didn't mean it like that. It's just, if he did something stupid to hurt you, I'd break his nose."

Ingrid almost lands a hit on Dorothea, who slides away at the last second. "Oh Ingrid, you are just adorable. You can date me any day."

Her cheeks warm and she attempts another lunge at Dorothea, missing by a large margin. "Absolutely not. Embarrassing statements during training is forbidden."

"No promises." She taps the floor with her wooden sword. "But if you're going to protect me, you'll have to be better than me at the sword." Dorothea steps back, propping one leg behind the other. She raises the wooden sword above her head and strikes down in a fluid motion. The sword comes inches from Ingrid's face. "Try that again."

Her eyes are wide. "Where did you learn that?"

"I've had my fair share of swordplay training during the Opera days that translated quite well here at the academy. Now, resume stance and follow my movements." 

Ingrid decides that Dorothea is her favorite sword instructor.

\--

Through trial and error, Ingrid discovers that Dorothea is rarely at the training grounds. Following their last session, Ingrid is seen training on late evenings not unlike the time she encountered Dorothea. She familiarizes herself with the sparse population that take to the arena after sunset. Despite her shifts in schedule, encounters with Dorothea only took place twice during the week--once while Dorothea leaves and the other when she returns to retrieve a forgotten silver brooch. 

Ingrid is in the training grounds earlier than usual. If her sore triceps were any indication, it is the fifth day of the week. With the weekend around the corner, she was eager for a well-deserved evening huddled under the covers with the new volume of the Knights of Vulgate.

The evening crowd is a dedicated one, but it's late in the week and training the idea of making up training at the start of the next week is a tempting one. The usual racket that greets her as she approaches the grounds have subsided tonight. In it's place is the soft clamoring of metal. 

Two knight regulars and Dorothea are present when she arrives. 

"Were you ever going to greet me, or do you prefer to watch?" Even with her brow drenched in sweat, Dorothea's hair manages to fall elegantly around her face. Her hair is tied up, exposing her glistening neck and Ingrid finds a sudden interest in the composition of the wooden sword rack array.

"You were so concentrated I felt like I was interrupting." She selects a sword and lays it on the grounds closer to Dorothea as she stretches her arms. "This is the first time I've seen you training."

Dorothea is reaching for her water pouch. "The professor discovered I was decent enough at swordplay and focused all my learning goals on reason magic. Now I'm holed up in my room staring at text for days on end. Can you believe her?"

"I theorize she's actually a sadist," Ingrid conspires. "Though foregoing your study goals and sneaking onto the study grounds, you're quite rebellious, Dorothea."

"I never claimed to be a saint," she pouts. "And I'd rather not let my swordplay skills get rusty. Spar with me?" It's a question, but she states it as a command because both already know the answer.

"If this is you rusty, I'm not sure I'll enjoy seeing you sharp."

Dorothea winks. They spar. The week of training proved to be useful, but Ingrid still struggles to land a hit on Dorothea. Their swords dance, and every time Dorothea lands a blow on Ingrid, she's careful to explain her openings. 

Sometimes Dorothea pauses their session to correct Ingrid's stance. She would instruct Ingrid to freeze in place. With her pupil still, Dorothea would use the wooden sword to guide Ingrid's body and limbs in place. Once, the tip of the sword kissed her chin, tilting her head to look at Dorothea's eyes. She says something about the opponent's gaze that Ingrid doesn't quite understand.

One time that evening, Ingrid catches Dorothea's eyes darting to the east end of the battlegrounds. Combat arts she picked up as a lancer rush in like a wave. Dorothea is a flexible swordswoman who's body language skillfully masks predictability. Yet she had prior battlefield experience, and time spent sparring with Dorothea allowed her the privilege of studying her movements. If she so much as blinked, she would have missed it. Her body twirled clockwise, but her eyes shifted the other direction, and Ingrid strikes.

And she misses by a hair.

They're both breathing heavily, frozen in place. "That was impressive."

Ingrid crumples over, using her sword to steady herself. "Not impressive enough. I thought I had you." She gestures to her eyes and then to a corner in the training grounds. "You were looking over there."

"And so were you, over here." Dorothea taps her shoulder where the sword would have struck. "But that's helpful to know. My opening."

"I'm glad to have helped you, but I'm apologizing to my future self."

"Guess you'll just have to train harder."

Someone clears their throat loudly by the entrance of the training grounds causing both heads to turn. It's one of the guards, not one that Ingrid recognizes by name, but she can tell he's cleaned up for the evening. 

"Darling, you're early tonight," Dorothea sings, her voice aimed at the figure by the doorway. She approaches the wooden sword rack to return her sword. "I was just finishing up some sparring."

The guard wears a cocky smile. "You know can always call me up for pointers, babe. Being out there in the world is the real deal. I actually stopped a group of thugs earlier this week wandering around town. You should have seen the look on their face when I showed up--just pure agony. They didn't even see me coming."

"My hero." Ingrid notices that Dorothea's smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Give me a few moments to freshen up and we'll head to town." She released her hair from the ponytail and combs through her locks. Her head is turned toward Ingrid. "Thanks for training."

Ingrid shakes her head. "I should be thanking you." She feels her stomach twists when she looks at the guard by the door, but she forces the words out. "Have fun tonight."

She winks. "We'll pick up from here some other time."

And with that, Dorothea's gone. Ingrid trains alone for some time, but she decides her half-hearted swings are counterproductive and leaves the grounds in favor of an evening with her books.

\--

"You should wear that smile more often. Guys would be falling for you left and right." Sylvain is draped over her shoulders and peering at her schoolwork.

"Not another peep unless you want to be sent back to your room," she threatens. Ingrid kicks herself for letting him stay over, again. Despite her threats of terminated philanthropy, Sylvain let himself in and Ingrid didn't kick him out. Next time, she thinks. Next time will be the last time. 

"Ok, feisty." He steps back, arms raised in submission. Sylvain falls onto the bed. He eyes the collection of novels lining the shelf beside her bed and plucks one from the masses. "Truth be told, I thought I'd have to climb through your window like last time."

"Which supports my theory that leaving you out there would prove to be more trouble for me in the future." Ingrid focuses on the crestology text in front of her. "Also if you lose my page, I'm feeding you to the wolves." 

"Your benevolence is appreciated." The book is above his head, held up by outstretched arms as he scans the pages. "Felix says he hasn't seen you on the training grounds lately. Did you get a boyfriend without telling us?"

"Do you think about anything besides relationships?" She finally turns her head toward him so he can see her furrowed brows. "I haven't been slacking. I've just found a new training partner."

Sylvain puts the book down. "You found a better swordsman than Felix?"

"Swordswoman, actually. Skill is debatable, but I learn more from her." Ingrid notes.

Sylvain lays on the bed and props his head up with the palm of his hands. "A girlfriend. Who's the unfortunate woman?"

A strained breath leaves her lips. "Dorothea. And we're just training partners."

"Yes, just training partners. Because I rework my entire schedule for my training partner." Ingrid trots over with the crestology textbook raised above her head. He snatches the book from her hands before it meets his skull. "Just jesting. But you've made yourself gorgeous friend. Mind letting me when she's single?"

"Must you test my patience every time you open your mouth?" Ingrid flops on the bed next to him. "It's quite offensive that you're already making moves on a taken woman."

"Please, Dorothea flits through the campus men about as quickly as I get through the women." He's waves his hand as if brushing off the topic.

Her eyes narrow dangerously on him. "Sylvain, that's rude."

"I'll give it a week, tops."

Ingrid stands up. "I can stand you making jabs at me, but I will not tolerate you speaking ill of Dorothea. If I hear another baseless comment about her, I'm leaving you out to fend for yourself."

Sylvain goes quiet. There's no humor in Ingrid's eyes. The expression she wears is the same as she puts on in the face of her father--defensive, chiding, disappointed. He runs his hand through his hair. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking. I have tea with her on occasions and I know she's not like that. It's just, people talk."

Gossip. The inevitable force that weaves into the lives of every adolescent experience. Being associated with the school playboy meant she was a frequent target of monastery chatter. Try as she might, people talked, and she couldn't help but overhear as much as she tried to shut the noise out. Only one month into the monastery, and she's woefully well-versed in the tale surrounding her own name. All who wish to court the dreamy crested noble must pass judgement with the golden knight, a ruthless being who will show no mercy to unfortunate women who fall victim to the crested noble's charms. 

Tales of her classmates circulate, but Ingrid isn't one to let mindless chatter influence her opinions of people. Yet she can't help but notice some names flitting more frequently from ear to ear.

One being Dorothea.

Rumors suggest a mysterious songstress bypassed legal venues of admission to attend the prestigious academy. Some say it was through unfaithful connections. Others suggest deceitful conduct with married lords. The most outrageous tales claim she's nemesis' mistress revived from unresolved lust. She'll sleep with any person with a noble title and a crest to their name for a chance to steal their title and riches. News suggests she chose the Black Eagles house for their large population of nobles. They labeled her the Black Siren.

"You should know better than anyone how destructive they can be," Ingrid says. The bed creaks as she climbs next to Sylvain.

They marinate in their experiences in silence. They've become experts at ignoring the comments, but the silent jabs don't hurt any less when they catch up. Despite her loathing for idle chatter, Ingrid can't help but acknowledge that all tall tales are based on some grain of truth. And she can't help but wonder where the grain might be.

\--

Lunch, a moment of peace blessed to mortals from the goddess herself, is a time for rejuvenation. Breakfast is comprised of whatever she can easily stuff in her pockets without it spoiling, which is to say very light. Lunch is the first meal of the day where Ingrid can sit down and enjoy steaming plates of savory delights. Usually she's in the company of her childhood friends, but she's alone today, not that she minds. The occasional solitude is more than beneficial to her sanity. Plates are on her tray. She's practically drooling as warm bowl of Daphnel stew stares back at her teasingly. Ingrid eagerly scans the area for the nearest table to settle down with her food.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Dorothea sitting alone. Ingrid beams, thinking to slide into the seat beside her undetected in an attempt to tease a reaction out of her. She notices Dorothea's are cast down on her plate with uncanny concentration.

"Why do you think the latest knight left her?" It's a townsperson Ingrid doesn't recognize sitting behind Dorothea.

"Probably because he got what he wanted out of her." They both laugh. "Not like she got a bad deal out of it--he fed her better than she would have gotten otherwise."

Ingrid slams her tray on the seat right across from Dorothea, facing the two women behind her. "Dorothea, care to join me for lunch outside?" Ingrid's eyes are trained past her, toward the two women speaking earlier. Their eyes are cast down on their empty trays in an effort to avoid Ingrid's piercing gaze. 

Dorothea looks up from her food and nods. They gather their trays, the women behind her not daring to look up as they leave toward the garden. It's not hard to find a seat, and Ingrid might say she enjoys it more than the stuffy cafeteria on a bright day as this.

"Thank you," Dorothea breathes finally. Ingrid thinks this is the first time she's seen Dorothea without a confident smile.

"You shouldn't have to deal with those petty comments," Ingrid spits. Her blood boils at the thought of the countless other's mindlessly spreading false information. "I'm sorry to hear things didn't work out, by the way."

She shakes her head, rolling the potato mash around her plate. "It happens a lot, and I'm beyond the point of caring. He wasn't my type anyways."

Her bread breaks unevenly as she tears the baked staple with more force than usual. "Nobody should have to be used to it. The best thing to do is ignore them." Dorothea is quiet. Ingrid spoons a mouthful of stew into her mouth. "How did things break off?" She tries to interrupt the silence.

"Turns out he's not interested in much beyond my looks," she states.

"He didn't seem very sincere in the first place," Ingrid says between mouthfuls. "I may be misinterpreting, but you looked stressed when you were with him."

Dorothea smashes the mash with her spoon, wondering if the mush can be reduced any further. "Maybe I was."

She washes down the thick stew with a mouthful of water. "Why did you date him in the first place?"

Dorothea drops her spoon, deciding that playing with her food isn't as entertaining as she hoped. "I am interested in my future, Ingrid. I don't have anything to my name, and my deadline to secure a life off the streets is when my decent face and voice leave me."

The food seems to be off today, and Ingrid contemplates whether they changed the chef. "There are other ways to secure a future, aren't there?"

The chair scrapes against the concrete as Dorothea stands up. Ingrid looks up from her food, but Dorothea's eyes aren't there to meet her. "Maybe there are for nobles with crests. I'm a nobody, Ingrid. I barely belong here." Dorothea raises the back of her wrist to her eyes and releases a wavering breath. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I want to be alone right now."

Words arrange and rearrange in her head, but her voice fails her. "Of course. I'll be here if you need anything." Time seems to slow as she watches Dorothea collect her tray and walk away from the table. Ingrid stirs her bowl of stew and stares at the swirling vegetables until her bowl goes cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's a slow burn without a little pain.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battle ensues

The campus guard approaches and she's shrinking in her seat. "A letter for Ms. Galatea." She knows her day is ruined the second the thin white envelope leaves the knights hands and slip into hers. The tanned papyrus burns on her fingertips. Waves of nasea seep from the cloth and into her veins, the effect shaking her whole being. She steadies herself on to one of the chairs in the black eagles classroom. The hall was long free of students after the previous lecture, and she's already predicting the contents of the letter. 

She doesn't need to finish for the headache to return. 

As always, her father is more than polite, and she wishes he would force his will on her so she could hate him more easily. The letter is filled with heartfelt pleasantries that make Ingrid's eyes prick knowing that there's more to his message. Then comes the marriage proposal, once again, featuring a man from some land Ingrid only read about in textbooks with a dowry too large for her family to refuse.

She feels like drawing her knees up and hiding under her covers. It's indisputable her father spends countless hours pursuing possible suitors to even consider, and his gentle words are only ever urgent but never forceful. She slams her a fist on the desk. Why couldn't he force her into a dress and send her off so she could hate him. Her heart felt like it was ripping into two.

"What's the matter, Ingrid? I never hear you sigh like that." 

She releases a tense breath, collecting herself enough to look up. Professor Byleth and Dorothea approach her table. As always, the professor's expression is unreadable but Dorothea's brows are scrunched. 

Ingrid hasn't spoken to Dorothea since their... quarrel yesterday. The hours that passed felt long last night, but seeing Dorothea now felt like time fast forwarded without warning. More than anything, Ingrid wanted to clear things up with Dorothea as soon as the opportunity came. Something she did in the past must have angered the goddess for her to present the opportunity like this. Father's letter in hand and Dorothea in front, Ingrid's head was splitting into two. The best she could do--satiate Byleth's inquiries. And do so through the suffocating tension and her own cacophony of thoughts. 

Ingrid slides the letter across the table to the professor. Dorothea pokes her head from behind Byleth's shoulder to read the contents. "Oh, it's a marriage proposal... for you."

Ingrid thinks Dorothea sounds strained, but everything appears that way at the moment. 

"I've not met him, though I've heard his name here and there. He began life as a merchant but has somehow achieved rank in court." Her shoulders slump, and she wishes she learned magic so melting into a puddle was possible. "It's most likely that he wants the Crest of Daphnel that I bear to adorn his family name."

"Hmm, yes, that sounds about right. The jerk." Venom drips from Dorothea's lips as she says the words. Her sharp voice penetrates the cloud of tension, and Ingrid looks up. Dorothea's eyes train on the letter, and if she didn't know the contents, she might suspect it was ignorant libel.

The professor urges her to continue.

The man attempted to woo her during her days as a songstress. Their troupe met him while touring around the north eastern border of the Kingdom. Every evening without fail, glamorous gifts sat in the greenroom with letters promising showers of gold, land, and eternal happiness in exchange for marriage. It's traditional to accept all gifts upon delivery as a gesture of respect, but each gift was more grand than the last. The day before the opera departed, they learn that man made each penny on blood and lies. Every gift received was distributed to the people that evening. 

Despite Ingrid's rejections for the need, Byleth and Dorothea initiate an investigation. They would send a small militia of students to oversee Ingrid's travels to the lord the next day.

"Great let's tell the others." Dorothea begins to set off but she's stopped by Byleth. Gentle pressure from the professor's hand guide Dorothea into the seat in front of Ingrid. The professor's eyes gesture over too the blonde, and the songstress' eyes follow. She nods, taking a moment to steady her breath.

The professor leaves the room without another word. 

Dorothea looks over at Ingrid, whose eyes are trained at the back corner of the room in thought. "Are you alright?"

Ingrid doesn't answer at first. She opens her mouth a few times, but her throat is tight and she feels any word she says will unlock a gate to emotions she can't hold back. In the end, Ingrid just shakes her head. 

A warm hand reaches over the table to grab her hand. "I'll be here if you need anything." Dorothea's thumb brushes against Ingrid's cold ones. The inevitable conversations loom over the classroom like a thick cloud, but the warmth of Dorothea's hands convince her that those words can be spoken at some other time.

* * *

She's walked down these halls no less than a hundred times, but tonight her legs drudge forward with uncertainty. Last time she knocked on this door, the host's expression rivaled Hubert's glares. Now she wished that were the case, so at least she knew what to expect. Just the other day, she bursted out at Ingrid without so much an explanation, leaving Ingrid to dwell in her own thoughts till dawn. More than anything, she wanted know what Dorothea was feeling, but the letter showed up, and Ingrid everything was more confusing than ever. She's usually one to bury troubles under copious hours of training, but failing to acknowledge support from another would break the chivalry code, and that wouldn't do.

The night was cool, but Ingrid's palms were sweaty as she knocked on the door.

"Dorothea?" The name leaves her throat with a hitch.

Ingrid holds her breath when the door creaks open. Dorothea's already dressed in her nightgown. This ends of her hair droop over her shoulders and she holds a towel to the wet locks, blotting the ends dry. She steps to the side, inviting Ingrid to enter. "I wasn't expecting company at this hour."

Ingrid shakes her head. "Is now a bad time?"

"Nonsense." She gestures the blonde indoor and shuts the door behind her. "There's tea in the drawers. Feel free to sit anywhere."

She's relieved to have something to do while revisiting all possible conversations in her head. Preparing tea kept her busy from the dreadful prospect of sitting empty handed twiddling her thumbs, left to her own thoughts. Thus she soaks leaves and pours the beverage with every ounce of concentration. 

Hair dries eventually, and Ingrid lays out the tea. Dorothea takes a teacup over to her bed, and Ingrid follows.

"I want to thank you for looking into the marriage proposal," Ingrid starts. "This task is completely outside your scope of obligations, but I'm grateful for your assistance."

"Of course, Ingrid." Dorothea's voice is quiet. "I wouldn't want that scum touching anyone, even if he's offering a generous payout for it." She sips chamomile, training her eyes on the swirling liquid. Silence sits in the air. "You're free to avoid the question, but why are you upset seeing the marriage proposal from your father."

A quivering breath leaves Ingrid's lips. She prepared an explanation in her web of possible conversation topics, but words never came easy on this topic. Fingers clench. She decided she would be honest with Dorothea, and she was determined to see it through. "It's true, I am of noble blood, but that doesn't mean I share their luxuries. My noble family, House Galatea, branches off from the House Daphnel alliance. Through that, we were able to gain some nobility, but our lands are infertile and the people are poor." Her hands wrap tightly around the cool ceramic. "Neither my brothers or father bear a crest, but I do." 

Ingrid bites her tongue, aiming to subside the muscles clenching her throat. "As you are aware, crest bearing nobles are looked upon favorably. Since birth, I was the saving grace for my family and my people. My father hopes to marry me off to a wealthy noble to secure the financial means of survival for Galatea."

When Ingrid looks up, Dorothea's eyes are there, staring at her. They're wide, warm, and whole. The expression makes Ingrid feel like Dorothea's hugging her. "I'm sorry to hear your father would use you like that."

Her throat tightens again, and Ingrid sips chamomile. "The worst part is... I don't hate him. My father is never demanding. Growing up, he's always pampered me with my favorite dishes while taking meager bites for himself. I know he cares about me, but he's also a man of the people. Yet here I am, selfishly living out my own dreams. It's pathetic."

Silence fills the air again. "I was jealous of you when I saw the marriage proposal from your father." Dorothea voice low, like she's sharing a secret she herself didn't know. "I have no father, and my mother died when I was young. Growing up, I did everything myself with no one to guide me. So when I saw the marriage proposal from your father, I was envious. It was like he was handing you opportunities on a golden platter."

"But that wasn't the case." Eyes turn toward Ingrid. "I know you, Ingrid, and you are righteous and hardworking to a fault. You're brave enough to carve a future for yourself despite the odds, and that is anything but pathetic."

"Dorothea," her voice croaks. Her hand rests on Dorothea's. "I can't imagine what would have happened if I never spoke to you. You're very important to me, and I can only thank you for choosing to listen and for staying by my side despite how I must have made you feel."

She's caught by surprise when Dorothea grabs her shoulder and holds her close. Her hand guides Ingrid's head on her shoulder and Dorothea's nose is buried in Ingrid's hair. "Of course I'm here for you, Ingrid. I'll review as many marriage proposals as it takes to make sure the man taking your hand is an appropriate one." Dorothea huffs. "And I'll strike any traitors with my sword."

She stifles a teary laugh behind her hand. "Thank you."

"I... also want to apologize for lashing out yesterday." Dorothea's voice is strained and Ingrid raises her head to get a better angle of Dorothea's face. "I let the rumors get to me."

"No need for apologies. There is always ignorant talk around the monastery." Her hands reach for Dorothea's but they twitch backward in response. 

Dorothea's shrinks in her spot. Nervous forest green eyes dance with the candlelight reflection. "It's talk, but not all of it is ignorant." Her bangles are not present at this hour, but hands twist around nervously wrist. "Some of their words are true."

"Say what they will, it doesn't matter. You are an impeccable stable partner and a talented swordswoman. I know I can trust you with my life on the battlefield, and I'm sure everyone in Black Eagles feels the same. You belong here, Dorothea." Empty teacups are cast to the side and Ingrid's hands are firm on Dorothea's.

Her brows are scrunched, and Ingrid recognizes the expression. Doubt. "You wouldn't think so if I told you the things I did to get here."

Ingrid sits up. "Try me."

A pause. "I curried favors from nobles to enroll here." She confesses, her is voice meek and her eyes avert Ingrid's gaze.

She swallows. "I admit that method is unconventional, but isn't that a marker of your determination? We all arrive predisposed to different advantages, and despite it all, you've managed to enroll here. You've come farther than most, and while at the academy, you're on equal footing with everyone." Ingrid's eyes lock firm on Dorothea. "Your past doesn't control who you are today."

"I..." she's facing Ingrid, but their eyes don't quite meet. "There are other rumors too. I am dating around the monastery." Her voice is less tense, but lashes with the intensity of a disgruntled emperor proving her adviser wrong.

"You are securing a future through marriage, as am I." Ingrid states.

There's a beat. Ingrid's heart flutters when Dorothea chuckles. "I suppose that's true." 

"Regardless of where you're from, we're all equals at the academy. Which means I should return the favor. All men interested in your hand will have to pass by me first," Ingrid announces. "I'll make sure they treat you right." The stress on Dorothea's face has melted.

"Oh, and what does that mean?" Ingrid's heart swells hearing the mischief return in Dorothea's voice. 

"I'll make sure they have the means to treat you to the finest cuisine in Fódlan, and they'll treasure you for who you are, and not simply your appearance."

"And who am I really, Ingrid?" It's a quip, but genuine curiosity laces in the tone.

Her brows scrunch, the question catching her off-guard. "You are... a good training partner. And someone who teases often"

Dorothea bites her lower lip. "It sounds like you'll be a busy woman then."

"I do it for your happiness." Ingrid winces internally at how cheesy the line comes out. Maybe she's reading too many novels, but the thoughts melt away at the sound of Dorothea laughing.

"Well, I look forward to it." Ingrid doesn't realize when their fingers became interlaced or when Dorothea's head rested on her shoulder, but it feels nice.

"What am I to do if you fall in love with the lord tomorrow." Her voice is barely above a whisper.

"I doubt it. No proposal up till now has interested me." Dorothea's thumb draws circles on back of Ingrid's hand. "And he sounds like a big dastard."

"That he is." She feels Dorothea's head nod against her shoulder. "What if he turns out to be handsome?" She asks again.

"I don't care much for appearances."

She feels Dorothea's jaw move as she attempts to form a question. "Are you attracted to anyone now?"

Ingrid pauses, thinking. "My focus is on being a knight."

"...good. Let's keep it that way."

It's with steeled willpower and that Ingrid manages to pry herself from the comfort of Dorothea's presence. Ingrid doesn't know what time she heads back to her room. Dorothea insists she stay the night, but Ingrid argues she doesn't want to impose, especially with the mission tomorrow. Sleep is essential to any mission, and her presence would only distract.

"Sleep well," Ingrid says.

"Goodnight, my Ingrid."

* * *

As theorized, the lord turns out to be scum. The trek up ragged hills to the Valley of Torment was training in itself, and the climate upon arrival was near unbearable. When they thought things couldn't get worse, the first wave of bandit's sprung from behind rocks.

Turns out, her suitor arranged a kidnapping at the determined location, and he was expecting her to put up a fight. Other black eagle generals are holding back the rogues, but reinforcements arise from every corner. That and the heat is an immense disadvantage for their units. Byleth is quick to adjust tactics. They aim to defeat the commander and get Ingrid to the southeast end of the valley. There is a cliff at that end, and underneath is bubbling magma that stretches at least a mile. Securing Ingrid to the location would allow her to escape via pegasus, thus extinguish their purpose. 

Groups split in two--cavalry and pegasus units accompany Ingrid, foot soldiers with Byleth.

Byleth is a skilled commander, but the offense has the advantage of surprise. With Byleth commanding the foot units, taking down the rogues is no issue. She's quick to identify the enemy hiding spots, and Dorothea wonders if their professor can see into the future. Yet it seems they underestimated the extent of guerrilla warfare. Behind every hill is a cluster of rogues that aim to tire, their numbers seemingly infinite. When they finally reach the commander, monastery units are exhausted. Byleth maneuvers through the scorching floors and surprise shower of arrows. The commander is undoubtedly skilled. The fight rages on, but Byleth isn't a professor by chance. The commander falls by the professor's swift blade. Leftover rogues visibly lose morale at the sight of their defeated commander and retreat beyond the valley's maze of magma and granite. 

"Move toward the southeast!" As a trained songstress, Dorothea identifies the slight hitch in Byleth's voice. 

She's surprised at the sudden announcement. There isn't even a second saved for celebration. At first, she can barely make out the scene beyond the magma and rocks. When she's close enough to see the action, Dorothea is sprinting.

* * *

Being mounted units gives them the slight terrain advantage, but the rogues are infinite. Unsuspecting archers and swordspeople erupt from every corner on already exhausted units. When the exit is in sight, Ingrid decides it safe enough to advance on her own. Her peers are busy holding back the last wave in an even fight, and her escape will put an end to the fighting.

If Ingrid arrived a moment slower, an ax would have struck her pegasus. She pulls the reigns in time and looks down, a rogue's ax in place of where she rested earlier. Three rogues block the path to the southeast cliff. Of course it was too good to be true. 

"Get down from their, girly. It'll be easier for both of us. I don't want to ruin your pretty face for the boss." He bounces the mace in his hands rhythmically.

"Keep dreaming." Ingrid lunges forward with her pegasus, spearing the side of his abdomen. He cries out, dropping to his knees and clutching the wound. Her victory is short lived, as another rogue takes a swing at her. She flies out at the last moment, but is caught by surprise from the third rogue who meets her at her new spot.

He sweeps the sword upward, and Ingrid sees it in the last moment. Arms rise to block the rogue with her lance and her weapon snaps into two. 

The rogue laughs. "You look good all flustered like that."

Sweat drips from her chin. That was her last lance. Her eyes sweep the surrounding. The rouge she struck earlier is getting back on his feet in front of her, and the other two are approaching from either side. Behind her, other enemy units are keeping her friends occupied in an even battle.

She shuts her eyes, and her future flashes before her. She's to be won as a prize from an ambush and to live her life smiling at a husband who's only interested in her crest and nobility. No, this couldn't be how things end. This isn't how things will end.

Ingrid dismounts and unsheathes a sword from her pegasus. "You'll have to try harder than that."

She's quick on her feet, but the rogues outnumber her and the sword is clumsy in her hands. Fending off one with a sword is a reasonable task, but the multiplied attacks force her movements toward conservative. She blocks attacks from the two swordsmen and uses her speed advantage to maneuver between attacks from the axe. She's successful at holding them at bay, managing to cut on occasion, but even she has her limits. With each strike and maneuver, she draws in deeper breaths. The adrenaline only lasts so long but the acid is building up in her muscles, and their attacks get closer to striking with each swing.

Through her multitude of parries, she's managed to land some critical hits. Namely, the injury on the axer's calf has him limping. The other two usually follow in his movements, so taking him out would be advantageous, and possible.

A swordsman lunges at her and she ducks away, kicking him off his feet. Metal footsteps approach behind her and she blocks the anticipated strike with her sword, pushing him off to the side. Following the pattern of their previous attacks, the axer moves forward. Time seems to slow as she follows the axes movements. Her eyes are on his, and she catches him glancing west. Ingrid follows the swing of his ax, noting the velocity by which it approaches her and prepares her weapon. She takes a deep lunge forward, ducking under the trajectory of his swing and bringing the sword up to meet his chest.

The sword slices up his abdomen and across his chest. 

The axer cries out, hobbling backwards and falling under his own weight. Ingrid stands up from her lunge to slash again when a leg swipes under her feet. She tumbles to the ground, face falling forward to meet the rough igneous surface. Her shaky arm pushes her body off the scorching rock when the heel of a boot forces her back into the ground.

"You're a lot of work, aren't you, princess?" The man breathes heavily against her neck. A sword pierces the side of her abdomen and she she cries out. Her fingers slacken from the sudden attack, and he wretches the sword from her fingers. He lifts her by her collar. "You're face is still looking pretty though. I hope the boss let's me have some fun after all the trouble he put me through."

She's kicking and thrashing, but it's no use. Her breath is uneven. The adrenaline is subsiding and the wounds she sustained catch up to her. It was no use. She squeezes her eyes tight to clear the pricking behind her eyes. It seems even she wasn't strong enough to overcome the will of destiny and the path it chose for her. She could almost hear the deities scoffing at her futile attempt. She was just a woman with a crest born to a noble family. No amount of training would ever overcome that.

There's electricity in the air. Literally. The tips of Ingrid's hair fly up and she hears a roar as the rogue carrying her sword is blown back clean off his feet. Ingrid musters the energy to look up. There was Dorothea, fingers outstretched and electricity still flying off her fingertips. 

The sight is enough to revitalize her. She takes advantage of the slackened grip around her collar raises her knee between her captors legs. He winces, fingers slacking and she pushes him away, striding back as far away as she can muster. The man holds his hands between his legs, eyes red with revenge as he stares at Ingrid. Not a second later, the spot where the man stood erupts in a burst of light, and he recoils back several feet. 

"Your reason magic is good." Ingrid complements. 

"I've been practicing. Now let's go." Dorothea says hastily.

She turns to the south east peak, calling her stead to her side. Victory is close. Archers are down, so she just has to take off at the cliff. The barren magma underneath will be reason enough for anyone to stop pursuing. Pain in her abdomen returns in a shockwave, and Ingrid stumbles.

Dorothea rushes to her side. One look at the wound and she grimaces. "You're losing too much blood."

"I can take it." She says through gritted teeth. Ingrid mounts her stead, but Dorothea tugs her boot.

"I'm coming with you." Dorothea states, climbing onto the back of the pegasus. Ingrid begins to object, but Dorothea beats her to it. "You're out of weapons and in no place to battle. Let's go."

Ingrid shakes her head. "You can't. We'll be in the air. You're afraid-"

"Ingrid," Dorothea's voice is stern. "We're going. Now."

The swordsman are down, but the axer begins to rise. Without wasting another second, the pegasus is moving forward toward the cliff. There's nothing but empty space in front of her, but the stead charges forward full speed. Arms wrap around her waist and Dorothea presses against her back. Wings stretch out in either direction when they're near the edge, and they're flying.

Ingrid looks behind at the flustered rogues standing at the edge of the cliff, and even she can't help but cheer behind her. Weapons soar in the air in a futile attempt to attack, but they're yards into the sky. 

"Ah, my wound." She winces at the sudden pressure around her waist. Dorothea loosens her grip and readjusts themselves around Ingrid's ribs. 

"Apologies." Dorothea's breath is uneven. She's clawing at metal of her chestplate, and Ingrid's heart sinks, recognizing the motion all too well.

Ingrid places a hand on Dorothea's and hold it tightly. "I'm right here, Dorothea. I'm not going anywhere."

"You better not." Her breath is warm against Ingrid's shoulders. She still feels the uneven rise and fall of Dorothea's chest against her back, but her arms seem to relax. Her eyes remain closed against Ingrid's hair, and she thinks the feeling might be nice if given different circumstances.

There's a sudden warmth around her waist and she sees green light from the corner of her eyes. 

"What are you-," she's cut off by a scream.

"No, keep your eyes on the sky! I'm trying to heal you." 

She holds back the laughter bubbling in her chest as she imagines a flustered Dorothea behind her. "Thank you." Dorothea's hands hover carefully over her wound. Warmth spreads from the injury to her chest, and Ingrid thinks Dorothea is a talented healer as they soar through the skies.

* * *

Despite the events that took place, the trip back to Galatea was like any other voyage home. After the battle, Ingrid parts ways with the professor and troops to return to Galatea to inform her father of the news. Dorothea offers to accompany her, but Ingrid can tell she's exhausted. She doesn't relent until Felix agrees to tag along, and the familiar face is comforting. After sharing news of her suitor's actions, her father rescinds the offer immediately. Normal family dynamic returns to play and he inquires of Ingrid wounds at least a thousand times. He pampers her with dishes and flourishes her with gifts Ingrid knows is beyond the family budget, and that's that. Not wanting to linger a moment more than necessary, Ingrid returns to Garreg Mach.

"Ingrid! Welcome back." Dorothea wraps her arms around Ingrid's neck upon her entering the cafeteria. "Did you speak with your father?"

When they're all seated at the dining table, Ingrid fills them in on the trip. They're both caught by surprise when Ingrid places an amorphous wrapped object on the table. She unfolds the leather wrapping and they gasp.

"A hero's relic?" Byleth's voice is steady, but tinged with curiosity.

Ingrid nods. Lúin, a relic passed on in her family over generations. Seeing that she was the only crest bearer in her family, her father insisted that the weapon be put to better hands. "I still have much to learn, so I'm leaving this in your capable hands professor."

She thinks she see's Byleth smile as she takes it, but it may be the exhaustion catching up with her. Ingrid sits up straighter, and bows her head. "Dorothea, professor, I want to thank you." 

Byleth nods, her eyes still trained on the weapon. 

Dorothea clasps her hands on Ingrid's and brings them close to her chest. "We couldn't just lay around while you were facing a life of being married to a monster. I could never hand over my lovely Ingrid to some jerk who only wants her for her Crest."

Ingrid's fumbling with the right words. With Dorothea being so close, she hopes she doesn't reek of sweat, especially compared to Dorothea's sweet lavender. She latches on to whatever her working memory picked up from Dorothea's comment. "Oh? Do I belong to you now, rather than to myself?" She winces internally. That came out more biting than she intended.

She eases her hands out of Dorothea's, hoping she doesn't notice that her palms were going sweaty. The gift in her pocket feels heavy and she takes a deep breath. "Hey... Dorothea. This is probably more than a little awkward, considering where it came from, but...here." Eyes widen as she presents a small box and pops open the top.

Ingrid is no expert in gift-giving, but she's been around her childhood friends long enough to learn basic acts of appreciation. While she didn't trust Sylvain with nearly everything, he did have impeccable judgement for social affairs. To this day, Sylvain teases Dimitri about gifting a dagger. She was too young to understand then, but now she knew. People prefer accessories over defensive items. With this understanding, she dug through her collection of jewelry upon returning to Galatea. There wasn't a large selection--Ingrid was not an avid jewelry collector in any way. The several that made up her collection were gifts from suitors that felt inappropriate. Dorothea deserves more than a meaningless re-gifted band of metal. In the mass of metal in her collection, Ingrid could only think of one that would appropriately display her gratitude--a gift from her mother.

"A ring?" Dorothea's hands were clasped over her lips. " Is this... No! Is it?" Her voice fluctuated between question and statement.

She's beaming, ready to confirm Dorothea's suspicions. From her reaction, it appeared that Dorothea liked the gift. Yes, it was a fine accessory!

She's interjected by a wide-eyed professor. "A proposal?"

The ring nearly slips from her fingers. Her neck blooms with heat. An excited Dorothea doesn't make matters better. "Oh, Ingrid... I accept your offer! We'll be together forever!"

"Stop teasing me, Dorothea! I'm trying to be sincere" It seems today was not a good day for Ingrid. Words fail her once again as she fumbles to form a coherent sentence. Her heart thumps against her ribcage, and Ingrid thinks she might have to lay down in the infirmary later. "I wanted to find a way to emphasize how grateful I am to you. I looked for something from among my things that I thought you would like. I mean...you may already have one like it, but I thought on the off chance you didn't..."

"Ingrid, you are just adorable and I love it." Ingrid finally musters the courage to look at Dorothea as she takes the ring from her hands. Forest green eyes are wide with such open tenderness, Ingrid has holds back a new instinct burning on her fingertips to reach out to the other. Something flashes in the Dorothea's eye, and the tenderness is replaced with something Ingrid can't put her finger on. "But perhaps we should lend this ring to our teacher for now. Our dear teacher can best decide how to use it."

Her heart aches, and she holds back an urge to claw at her chest. It made sense, Dorothea probably had other rings in her collection. "As you wish, Dorothea. I gave the ring to you, so you can do whatever you please with it."

Ingrid suggests the other two rest for the evening and excuses herself shortly thereafter. The sun is just beginning to set, but Ingrid decides she'll sleep in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hii! The worlds been a crazy place and I've been swept up in the current of news and events, so this comes later than usual.
> 
> Anywho, extremely canon-compliant chapter with some perspective form Ingrid. She a bit dummy bit it's ok.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid puts on make-up.

As their childhood troupe is more than aware, one of life's greatest displeasures is Sylvain's goading. In an unfortunate turn of events, this was one of the rare situations where the opportunity arose. "You gave her a ring?" The last word is enunciated with such fever and clarity Ingrid is certain it reaches the deepest corners of Fódlan. 

"I get it, Sylvain. Bad move. Learn from my mistakes. Can we please move on?" Her face burrows in her arms, nose nearly contacting the maple tables in the audience chamber. Beside her is a helpless Dimitri, whose power pales in the presence of a feverish Sylvain. Next to Sylvain, a scowling Felix polishes his sword.

"Absolutely not. You do something like this once every millennia. I'm going to ride this out for as long as I possibly can." Sylvain's smug grin and laughter hasn't stopped since she first told him the story. Ingrid groans, thinking she should take notes from Bernadette's on how to disappear from society forever.

"To be honest, I still don't understand the issue." Dimitri's eyes are wide with concern. "What is problematic about gifting an accessory?"

Sylvain face splits between pure morbidity and humor. "You lot are truly one and the same." Sylvain clears his throat. "Tell me your majesty, what is the functional purpose of a ring?"

Dimitri raises a brow. "March rings grants increased movement-" He's cut off by a finger to his lips.

"Proposals, Dimitri." Sylvain's standing from his seat. "Which lead to what?"

"... marriage?" Dimitri tries.

"Precisely!" His arms flaunt in the air at the answer, and Ingrid wouldn't be surprised if flashing lights and confetti matriculated from thin air. "Ingrid, you can't just go around giving people rings. It would really hurt someone who happen to like you."

If Ingrid could bury her head into the wooden table, she would. "It's a token of appreciation and the nicest gift I had." She groans. "And on this matter, romance and marriage are independent of one another--marriage exists to share fortunes and split taxes."

She's surprised to hear Dimitri's the one who gasps. "Ingrid, you have such a demented view on marriage."

Felix chuckles. "Demented. Funny coming from you, boar."

"I'm being rationale. Marriage is a tool. Rings are gifts for friends." The statements come off as facts as simply as someone would observe the sky is blue or Sylvain is stupid.

"Necklaces and earrings are gifts. And friends don't look at each other with googly eyes."

Jaw drops to implicate her offense to his statement. "I do not make googly eyes at her! That's how friends look at each other, Sylvain."

"Maybe for someone without a romantic bone in her body." He sneers.

"I so do have a romantic bone in my body!"

"Oh? Then are you interested in someone?" Sylvain piques. She thinks even Felix glances up from the corner of his eye, even if just to roll his eyes, but a reaction nonetheless.

There's a pause. "I don't think so... not since Glenn." The name doesn't hurt her like it did before, but it sounds odd to bring it up in this context. "But that's besides the point! I can very well be romantic if I want to."

Sylvain's eyebrow twitches upward. She's known him long enough to know behind his eyes, mischievous neurons are connecting in his brain. The outcome is never good. "Convince me then. You go on a romantic date with someone."

"Fine. And if I'm successful, you stop using my room as a hideout." 

She sees the gears turning in his head. Reality is coming back to her, and her stomach flops with horror. "I'm a man of my word, Ingrid. It's on."

Ingrid is internally beating herself up. The conversation is already transitioning to a topic about swords that Felix gracefully brings up, but she can't hear what they're saying. Despite her grandiose display of confidence, Ingrid doesn't know the first thing about romance.

* * *

"Will you be available this weekend?" They're sparring. After the adventures in the Valley of Torment, meeting on the training grounds became a regular occurrence. It started with Ingrid asking to reserve Dorothea in the evenings. Several meetings after, they're slipping mock challenge letters under bedroom doors or over desks during class. Her presence has been a gifted distraction from Sylvain's bet, and his taking over her room on occasional nights.  
  
"Sparring on the weekend?" Ingrid asks, ducking away from an attack. She sweeps her leg under Dorothea, who steps back from the movement. "That's new."  
  
"Actually, we're hosting an opera in the cathedral, and you must be there." The news catches Ingrid off guard, and a merciless Dorothea takes advantage of the confusion. Her sword taps a frozen Ingrid's shoulders.  
  
Opera meant socials meant dressing up. Oh no.  
  
"I see..." Ingrid says. Walking toward their belongings signals their natural break point. She tosses a water pouch to Dorothea. "What's it about?"  
  
Dorothea beams as she runs through a play synopsis. A tragic love story featuring a princess and a commoner. Her experience at the opera earned her the title as princess of the piece. Excitement dances in her eyes and Ingrid feels herself growing smaller. "You'll be there won't you?"  
  
Her feet shift uncertainly. Any other instance, she would come up with some halfhearted excuse about training. But this is Dorothea. They've grown closer over the past five months, which means Dorothea knew her training schedule. And truth be told, Ingrid is interested. Stories of the opera are similar to those she adored in novels, and Dorothea would be center stage. She didn't want to miss the opportunity to see her friend perform. "That does sound quite lovely... And I do want to go, but I... um..."  
  
"Please don't worry if you can't make it." Dorothea is quick to interject. Had she not spent the past months in the songstress's company, she may have missed the disappointment laced in her tone. "I understand we're doing this on such short notice."  
  
"No, no! It's not that. I just... uh..." This wasn't a topic she normally minded, but she felt self-conscious in front of her friend who likely part-timed as a fashion-guru. "I struggle with the elegant part of things. I don't really do myself up in elegant clothing and makeup and such."  
  
Dorothea's eyes sparkle with solid zeal and Ingrid feels a chill down her spine. "If fashion's your concern, you're in luck!"  
  
She's impulsively taking a step back, but an eager Dorothea captures her hands in her own. "I am?"  
  
The other woman's eyes narrow. "Dressing for the occasion is essential for people to take you seriously, Ingy. It's an important skill to have."  
  
Ingrid blinks. Her head reels around the proposed facts and... she agrees. She's gotten by this far with substantial respect given her age and status as a student in a well-known university. Past these academy days, school uniforms wouldn't cut it. She'd have to prepare for the world beyond.  
  
"We'll make you the most beautiful woman in the theater." Dorothea's hands are clasped around her shoulders, and Ingrid can't help but sympathize with Lysithea being poached by the eager Hanneman and Linhardt.  
  
"Oh, goodness," Ingrid whispers under her breath. "Ok..."

* * *

The day comes all too soon and not soon enough. Ingrid suggests they meet in her room on an evening before the event, and Dorothea arranges the date. Annette is kind enough to share a make-up palette, and Mercedes generously teaches application basics, yet the reflection in the mirror rivals the ghastliness of a wild demonic beast.  
  
Ingrid tenses when there's a knock on the door. Dorothea instructs her to get started on the make-up, but she can't help but think that her initial application has done more to harm than good.  
  
She opens the door, and Dorothea's anticipated silence still hurts.  
  
The room explodes in laughter as Dorothea hobbles in, clenching her stomach.  
  
"Is my face really that hopeless?" Ingrid is pouting.  
  
"Apologies Ingy," she starts. "It just seems like you have no experience in dressing up. At all."  
  
Ingrid rubs her arm. "I mean... I don't. I appreciate your efforts, but you do have your work cut out for you."  
  
She's fanning her eyes, still moist from before. "I'm sorry. I was surprised, is all." Dorothea holds Ingrid's hands, leading her to the bed to sit beside her. "You're a beautiful young noblewoman... Who somehow has no experience with either makeup or fashion."  
  
Ingrid sinks in her seat, not daring to find out if Dorothea is looking at her with disappointed eyes. "I was just never interested before. Even as a child."  
  
Dorothea simply hums. Ingrid helps her find a facecloth from her closet. Dorothea soaks it in a solution from her bag and the room blossoms with the scent of roses.  
  
"But, you've inspired me to look into this!" The cloth dabs on Ingrid's cheeks as she speaks. Dorothea's hands are gentle in removing the atrocity caked on Ingrid's face. "I'd be dressing for the occasion, which is useful in my pursuits as a respectable knight."  
  
Dorothea's eyes sparkle not unlike last time. "Precisely. That's why we dress up when we go out. You might meet someone, and you want to look your best, don't you? Get their attention? Lure them in?"  
  
Ingrid frowns, shaking her head. "That's... the exact opposite of what I just said. Last time you said dressing for the occasion is reason enough."  
  
"Oh, I just said that so you wouldn't run off screaming."  
  
"I see." Ingrid suddenly regrets letting Dorothea get to know her so well.  
  
Dorothea holds Ingrid's cheek in her hand and runs a thumb over her cheekbones, now free from powdered pigments. "My real point is that you're quite lovely even before getting all fixed up." A familiar gleam of mischief flashes across Dorothea's eyes. "Absolutely bewitching, in fact."  
  
The narrow space that kept them apart disappears, and Dorothea's chest presses against Ingrid's shoulder. She's speaking directly into Ingrid's ear. "So when I'm finished with you, well... Someone looking at you could be forgiven for...wanting to pounce."  
  
"Could they be?" Ingrid feels her mouth going dry. "I don't know that I'd forgive them."  
  
"Oh, I know. So before I lunge, I'm gonna ask permission." Dorothea winks. A hand finds its way on Ingrid's thigh and she sucks in her breath.  
  
She's used to Dorothea's flirting, but it seems her methods were aggressive today. Maybe she felt emboldened the evening before her performance. Or perhaps this arose from being in Ingrid's room for the first time. Nonetheless, flirting was one of those silly games Sylvain engaged in that she never understood. The act serves no functional purpose other than to earn a reaction, and the best way to handle that was to shut it down. "Permission is not granted–ever! Just back off."  
  
Dorothea recedes to her end of the bed and pouts. "You're so cold, Ingrid. But I do love that feisty side of you."  
  
"Will you continue to tease me till the sun rises, or should we get started on make-up?" The distance serves to cool her head and revive a fraction of her fried brain cells. Those that function observe that unlike Sylvain, Dorothea's flirting earns a robust internal reaction.  
  
"Oh, that first option sounds incredibly tempting, but I do suppose we get started."  
  
Ingrid shows her the sparse collection of cosmetics in her possession and offers the bit she knows about the application process. As with swordplay, Dorothea is a talented instructor. Ingrid's respect for noblewomen trained in the arts of appearance multiplied by a million overnight. The volume of vocabulary words she learns rivals that of a textbook chapter. The application process is no short of a science. Still, she tries her best to absorb the information as it comes. Make-up starts with good foundation, she learns, taking mental notes of the events to use warmer or cooler pigments based on lighting. Sponges smooth out texture, and the arsenal of eye pigments take half the total application time.  
  
Dorothea instructs as she applies the make-up, her voice soft and only interrupted by pauses of deep concentration. Having make-up applied by someone else was a different experience entirely. When she attempts to open her eyes, a stern Dorothea instructs her to keep them shut. Sight is lost, so the only indication of what is happening is Dorothea's explanations read tenderly in her ear and the teasing brush that came and went to her face.  
  
"You can open your eyes for this part." Dorothea says and her eyelids flutter open after what felt like eternity. It doesn't take long for her to adjust to the candle-lit surrounding. She catches Dorothea twisting a silver cylinder.  
  
"Part your lips for me," Dorothea says, and Ingrid does as instructed. Somehow she wishes her eyes are still closed. A thumb rests under her chin, four fingers tilting her head up to look at the songstress. The lipstick is cold, but Dorothea is gentle. Her eyes concentrate on Ingrid's lips, and she feels her heart beat against her ribcage.  
  
"There." Dorothea chimes, and Ingrid's brain scrambles back into place. Dorothea's eager, grabbing Ingrid by the shoulders to navigate from their spot to the mirror at the desk. "What do you think?"  
  
Her eyes are clenched, ready to bear the sight that appears in the reflection and-  
  
Oh... was this her? She touches the mirror, certain that the reflection would crack under her fingertips and she'd wake up from a dream. But the image holds.  
  
It was her face. Light green eyes and sharp jawline unmistakably her. But cheekbones are pronounced, and her eyes popped in the mirror. "I... this is me." Her voice is barely above a whisper. Ingrid turns toward Dorothea. Warm eyes are there to greet her.  
  
"I told you not to worry." Doubtful comments die on her tongue with the look Dorothea gives her. It was an expression she's only constructed in her head through words from her novels. Her lips part in an honest mid-sigh that shares her captivation with the moment. Time felt fragile, like a word would break the spell that engulfed Ingrid in the warm blanket of Dorothea's gaze that held nothing but pure awe. 

Beautiful was a tool for nobles attempting to woo her. Beautiful was a hoax referring to an unfamiliar Ingrid wearing stiff gowns and heavy make-up. Beauty was reserved for flowers, carriages, and princesses. Ingrid is a knight, and none of those things.  
  
But tonight in her room, wearing nothing but pajamas and pigments, she stares at her own reflection in Dorothea's eyes, and Ingrid feels beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another canon compliant chapter! Flirty childhood friends and political marriages really messes with a persons I guess


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Performance day arrives.

"Your hair is  just  gorgeous, Ingrid." Annette says, partitioning Ingrid's hair in quadrants she didn't ever think twice about.

When Mercedes suggested the three prepare for the opera together, Ingrid was quick to accept  . Having the guidance of more senior make-up applicators was a positive to the her novice self.  Pride swelled in her chest at her friend's complimenting her evolved application abilities.  With faces fixed up, time remaining on the clock allowed the luxury of hair design experimentation. Thus, the current chain ensued.  Mercedes did Annette's hair, who did Ingrid's hair, who sat in front of the mirror wiping flyaway pigment off the counter .

"I appreciate the kind words, but it's quite thick and unmanageable. It's why I prefer it in a braid." She states  bashfully. Sylvain often jested her hair was as thick as a horse's mane, and she couldn't dispute. The braid hid the thick coarse strands away from public view while making training practical.

"You're making me jealous." Annette pouts. "My hair is so thin it looks like a kiwi when I put it up into a bun."

"An interesting comparison." Ingrid tries, baffled at how Annette seems to think over four dimensions at once. "In truth, I'd much prefer hair like yours. It's very light and graceful."

Ingrid holds back the urge to wince as a bashful Annette probes at her hair. "It's not," she mumbles.

"Your hair is beautiful, Annette." Mercedes soothes. "You're the only one of us who can pull off your braided curls. If I did it, I'd look like I have horns."

This rouses a giggle from Annette. "Mercie, you couldn't have horns even if you tried. Ingrid might be able to pull off the look though--ah I didn't mean it like that! "

"No, you're right. Sylvain would agree. And it would definitely be helpful in scaring off the poor women looped in his conquests." She see's her face contort with distaste in the reflection.

"I hear he's been keeping you occupied lately," Mercedes picks up on the curious tangent.

Ingrid takes frustration from this topic out on an unsuspecting dried spot on the mirror. "Unfortunately so. He has full privileges to my room until I win this bet, so he's been coming by unannounced."

"Oooh, what bet?" Annette chimes in.

Ingrid bites her tongue and mentally punches herself for bringing up the topic. "It's a small thing. I... claimed to be a capable romantic... so the bet is attending a romantic date."

The atmosphere in the room shifts and Ingrid feels like a cornered animal.  She focuses her attention on a make-up stain on the edge to hide from their sparkling gazes through the reflection.

"Oh Ingy, I never thought this day would come! So who has your eye?"  She feels Mercede's dazzling gaze behind her, and Ingrid shrinks lower in her seat, scrubbing closer at the application.

"I did say those things, but I can't say I understand romance." Ingrid confesses  bashfully . "I haven't found anyone that made me feel the way Glenn did."

"What a loss! You would make such a devoted wife, Ingrid. And a gorgeous one, too." Annette sings.

"You tease, Annette. I'm presentable, not gorgeous."

There's a groan behind her. "It's this humble attitude of yours that will be the death of me. Anyone chasing after you would need the patience of the professor going fishing." There's a tug on her hair, and Ingrid surmises Annette is pouting.

"I'm both appalled and impressed Ingrid. One look from some of the people at the academy has my heart racing." Mercedes admits.

The reflection in front of her suggests she's wrestling with an idea. "The only time Glenn made my heart race was during training."

Annette's brows knit in the reflection. "That sounds like he was a training partner, not a romantic partner."

"And you loved him?" Mercedes inquires. She's heard the answer before, but the presentation of new facts piques her interest once again.

Ingrid nods, but she can't help but feel her response inadequate. "He made me realize my dreams and inspired me to be who I am today," she starts. "When training gets difficult and  I feel  like giving up, he crosses my mind. And I remember him in my proudest moments on the battlefield." That was Glenn, a man who's followed her every step of the way toward her dream. Present or not, his spirit followed her, and it still stands by her side today. He was someone who Ingrid trusted with her life, and she wouldn't hesitate a second to lay hers down before him.

Mercedes's expression is contemplative, but she nods. "Love does take different forms for different people."

"For me, it's like my brain melts and I forget I'm supposed to be studying. And... my stomach tickles like an opossum is dancing on it and oxygen leaves my lungs."

Ingrid's brows knit together with concern. "It sounds like you're dying, Annette."

"Love makes some people feel like they're dying." There's amusement in Mercedes' voice. "Take a look in the mirror, Annette."

Annette's fingers slide out of Ingrid's hair and she turns her body over in the mirror. Her expression is almost blinding. "Oh, Mercie. It's gorgeous."

"I had a feeling letting your hair down would make you look more mature." Had she not been sitting there as the process unfolded, Ingrid wouldn't believe it was Annette. Mercedes managed to get her ends to curl up in soft waves on either side  just  below her shoulder. With the make-up, the effect made her look sharper and more mature.

"You're the bestest bestie ever, Mercie!" She gushes, and Ingrid's surprised the girl hasn't leapt into the clouds. "I'll get you a whole boat of sorbet next time!"

"My pleasure, Annette. Let's bookmark that date for later." As if on cue, the bell sounds in the distance, signaling their hour before the show. Everyone's back to scrambling.

* * *

Tardiness is inexcusable, especially for a show which Dorothea spent so much time on. Ingrid makes sure they rush to the doors with ample time to grab seats in the front. Nobody but Manuela is there to greet them when they arrive.  Ingrid strikes up polite conversation, and they're  thoroughly  informed of Manuela's unfortunate encounter with a not-so-gentleman the previous night . Dimitri shows up next, and then bodies begin trickling into the pews.

She doesn't feel out of place this evening. Self-conscious thoughts usually run rampant for her during social events, but not tonight.  Everyone's clad in flourishing gowns and black suits this evening, and for the first time, she matches the crowd  .  Mercedes and Annette selected a royal blue, strapless dress that's cut short in the front and runs long in the back  .  She's sporting a pair of golden earrings from Mercedes' collection, because Ingrid did not have any at the dormitory, and somehow, it works. The affair of dressing up was  typically  dreadful.  Her father would squeeze her into uncomfortable gowns and shove her into a halls with noblemen she didn't care for. Yet tonight, Ingrid is at peace. Today, she dresses up for the occasion, for her friends, and herself.

Sylvain and Felix are the last to slip in before the doors close shut. They squeeze themselves beside Ingrid and Annette.  She considers shoving their faces into the pews for retribution, but concludes their screaming inappropriate  prior to  the show opening. Manuela greets the evening, thanking the attendees for showing up on a weekend.  There isn't a roaring crowd to respond, but every audience member is a familiar face and each cheer traces back to a friend .

There are no curtains to close, but the silence that drapes the stage has the same effect. Small gasps fill the room when Dorothea steps on stage.

Dorothea was  widely  titled the campus beauty, but tonight, it's indisputable. Silky red pours out from her waist like a fountain, layering over each other and onto the floor. Intricate flowers decorate at and around her chest, dipping into a 'v' at the center. Her arms are clad in long silk sleeves that run the length of her arm.  Long brown curls drape over her shoulders and down her back in waves that would make the goddess green with jealousy. A mask is over her eyes, but Ingrid recognizes the unmistakable dark green orbs.

She opens her mouth, and the first note echoes across the cathedral.  This was the same voice that harmonized with the class during choir practice, but tonight it knows no humility. Her voice flows through scales with matching elegance while traveling across stage. No word loses it's zeal to short breaths despite the elaborate movements across stage. Ingrid almost forget's it's Dorothea in front of her until the mask comes off.

Ferdinand plays the commoner, much to the evening's amusement.  The audience laughs at the rugged loose clothes clashing with his perfect posture and posh accent  . Yet, he subscribes to the role through pure enthusiasm and the audience  is convinced. His voice is well-practiced, impressing the audience with runs of lyrics. Dorothea's voice weaves into his notes in a striking duet, and they know the tale will be one to remember by the campus. The audience cheers with the victories and gasp with the twists. At the peak of the story, sniffles sprout in unexpected corners of the pews. The princess' voice quivers with agony in a ballad of the crossroad. She chooses between  being married  off to a foreign prince, or choosing true love.

And as  quickly  as it begins, the play is over. Everyone stands in a roaring applause, each shouting the names of their friends on stage. Swept up in the mood, Ingrid shouts Dorothea's name till she's sure her voice will be hoarse the next day.  The performers stand in the front, perspiration glistening and chest huffing, eyes forward with pride. Hand in hand, they raise their fists to the air and dip their heads.

Some townspeople and students slip away from the evening magic to return to the humdrum of life . Nonetheless, the cathedral still bustles with energy.  Professors recount episodes with students in the pews as they waits for the performers to emerge from the greenroom.  Caspar is the first to come forward, and a wave of black eagle classmates rush over to congratulate the prince himself.

Performers trickle out from the back. Ferdinand follows shortly after, and a sequence of crew members behind him. Dorothea is one of the last to emerge.  Her outfit is one from the second act--a burgundy gown that hangs on one shoulder and drapes right above her knees. Despite the late timing of her appearance, a crowd swarms to greet her.

An alien shyness meets her as she's overlooking the crowd surrounding the songstress. It was the same Dorothea she's always known, but somehow even more dazzling than usual. She catches herself pondering one too many times about what Dorothea may think of her attire, and when may be the optimal time to make her entrance in the group of eager fans. Thoughts brush aside as the familiar face emerges from the crowd that surrounds her.

"Dorothea," Ingrid appears after Byleth finishes her praises and disperses with the rest of the crowd. "You were absolutely breathtaking tonight."

"Ingy, I'm so glad you could make it!" Her arm is occupied with a bouquet and gestures to wrap around Ingrid. "Look at you, all dressed up tonight."

Her ears warm. "I'm dressing for the occasion."

"And you excel at it, darling."

"I should say that to you. Tonight you were... pretty." She's given compliments before, but Ingrid finds that the task is infinitesimally more difficult in the presence of the songstress. She raises her chin, hands fighting nervously behind her. "Sorry, what I mean to say is I've always admired stories about knights and heroes, but I've regrettably turned down these events out of personal fears of large crowds. But you didn't give up on me. Your fight choreography, you acting and your singing were spectacular, and no doubt due to your blessed talents and endless hard work. Thank you for inviting me out tonight. I am sure to attend all your future performances as your fan and friend."

"Thank you, Ingrid." Dorothea's smile is confident, but Ingrid doesn't miss the pink tinging her cheeks "You're sweet, though I'm surprised this confession didn't come with a ring."

This time, it's Ingrid's ears that warm. She's bowing her head, finding that extravagant gestures do well to calm her thoughts. "My apologies. Had I attended more of these affairs I would have known to bring you a gift."

"Nonsense. Manuela simply insisted I not leave the show with empty hands. And a gift better than flowers may be accompanying me to dinner this evening."

Ingrid piques at the comment. "It would be my honor."

She shoves the flowers at Ingrid's chest. "Then I'll play the princess for a little longer tonight. Come forth, my knight."

It's just a playful title, Ingrid knows that full well, but hearing the words don't fail to make her heart swell with pride. Ingrid marches behind Dorothea as they head through the doors. "As you wish, your majesty."

* * *

The feast afterwards is a surprise to everyone. What they expected to be the daily campus menu turned out to be a full course buffet. The dining tables are decorated with silver platters filled with a dazzling rainbow of entrees. White table cloth drapes over the tables and candles light on top of each. Manuela claims it was something she organized in her free time, but Dorothea whispers to her that the professor spent countless afternoons making preparations with kitchen staff. Ingrid hopes she's not drooling over her meal dinner, and Mercedes has to remind her to drink water when she nearly inhales a whole pheasant.

"We're really sitting with the Dorothea! Here in the flesh and bones!" Annette is squealing away in the seat across Dorothea. Her shoulders droop with a dreamy sigh. "You're even prettier up close."

Dorothea's used to the compliments, but hearing the words from a classmate introduce pink to her cheeks. "It's just the make-up and dresses, but thank you."

"Are you sure we're not stealing you away tonight. Your company is more than welcome, but I'd feel responsible if you missed out on an important celebration with the other performers." Mercedes chimes in next to Annette.

"Everyone's gone their own ways tonight." She gestures to the various performers scattered in the room tonight. Caspar is seated in crowd of Black Eagle students and Ferdinand surprises everyone by sitting with the kitchen staff. Similar faces from the stage scatter in pools across the cafeteria. "Plus I'm with good company here."

"There she is! Ingrid in her natural habitat." Sylvain interrupts. He's approaching their table, an angry Felix at his side. The clean suit he sported earlier is now unbuttoned, and the tie around his neck hangs loose around his neck. He slides into the seat beside Mercedes.

"I'd say she's endearing like this." Dorothea chimes in beside Ingrid. An index finger meet's Ingrid's cheek, and Ingrid pauses eating. She blinks at the pheasant in her hands and Dorothea bites back a laugh. "And quite mesmerizing."

"It's good food, Sylvain." Ingrid's voice is cheery, the meal in front of her temporarily forgiving him of his errors. "You should eat, too."

"Ingrid, please take your time. There's sauce on your cheek." A frantic Mercedes is dabbing at Ingrid's face, who doesn't seem to hear her through the chomping.

Felix speaks up, much to the surprise of everyone. "You sing well," he compliments. "The performance was enjoyable."

"Your praise is appreciated, Felix," she manages through the cacophony beside her. 

"We should duet next time, Dorothea!" Annette chimes in. Had the spoon in her hand contained any food, the contents would have launched onto the unsuspecting Edelgard behind her. "We'll sing and Felix can dance."

"Why would I dance." His scowl somehow manages to deepen when he turns to Annette.

The other girl simply tilts her head, eyes wide. "So you'd rather sing?"

"No I-... No singing." Felix groans.

Dorothea clasps her hands together. "Oh, then you must be dancing! "

"What? How did you come to that conclusion." He's nearly growling, and both Annette and Dorothea are holding back their laughter.

"I'd pay a lot to see Felix dancing in a sexy dress." Sylvain chimes in, charming smile and wink in full effect.

"He'd look almost as good as this dinner." Ingrid says absentmindedly, digging into a second serving of stew.

"I'm going to get every last one of you." He's growls, teeth clenched and hair sticking up his arms.

Sylvain ruffles Felix's hair, mentioning something about wrinkles forming on his face with those continued scowls. And the night proceeds in a similar fashion. Plates pile on one another, and Annette is the first to head off to tend to studies. When desserts are presented, Ingrid engages in mental debate over whether a taste of the peach sorbet would be worth trying the limits of the human stomach capacity. Mercedes' reasoning wins out, and half the table spares no mercy moaning with pleasure into their spoons.

"I should be going soon," Dorothea stand sup from her seat. "I've been up since much too early in the morning."

There's a mix of polite pleas to stay and compliments for her company, but the formalities eventually subside. Dorothea begins to take her dishes to the kitchen.

"Hold it. We can't have the princess walking to her room alone," Sylvain says, getting out of his seat. "Allow me to escort you back to your room."

Ingrid snaps up on her feet. "Hold it. Not you, Sylvain." 

"You wound me, Ingrid." His heart clenches his chest in a mocking display. "I'm only offering to assist our beloved songstress across campus. And into the bedroom if she'd like."

An eyebrow twitches. She takes the plates from Dorothea's hands and scoops her own from the table. "If an escort is your concern, then I'll walk her back."

"Hogging the star of the show all for yourself doesn't seem fair now, does it?" Sylvain counters, sly grin stretches in full force.

Ingrid returns the smile. "Then you wouldn't mind me sharing what your ideas of fair are with the cafeteria audience, hm? Just the other day, you were extremely fair to the daughter of the baker and the local florist."

Sylvain holds up his arms, lowering himself in his seat. "I simply jest, and it appears Dorothea is in good hands tonight," a strained laugh sounds under Ingrid's unwavering glare. He turns his head to Dorothea. "I've lost you tonight, but may our paths cross again."

"I look forward to it." She replies with equal dramatics.

They bid their farewells, and Ingrid drops off the plates. Hands are washed and she meets Dorothea at the door.

There's a breeze tonight that carries the freshwater aromas of the lake with it, and it's pleasant. Clouds are at bay tonight, so the moon and stars sparkle unadulterated overhead. Coming from the rowdy cafeteria, the juxtaposition gives the illusion of walking into a new dimension. 

"I hope dinner was enjoyable," Ingrid starts. "This crowd gets rowdy at times."

"I admit I was nervous meeting people from other houses, but the blue lions are full of sweet characters." Dorothea sings.

"I'm glad. My lack of elegance with words might have skewed their imagination of you, so it's nice they finally got to meet you in person," she says.

"You talk about me with your friends, Ingrid? I'm curious what rumors you spread about me." Her tone is accusing, but Ingrid doesn't miss the way her lips dance upward.

She hopes the dimly lit campus shields her tinted cheeks. "You just come up sometimes."

Dorothea just hums, amusement laced in her tone. 

She didn't question that Dorothea was walking slower than usual this evening, but they approach the stairs and there's a groan beside her. "Are you alright?" Ingrid asks.

Dorothea sighs, bending her knee and looking over her shoulder to observe the four inch stilettos. "Running around on stage with these really takes a toll on you."

Her brows furrow at the sight of Dorothea's injured feet. From afar, the pearly footwear practically glowed to the audience, but they were a weapon up close. White leather was the only article binding shoe to feet. Red streaks mark the flesh where the leather piece bound, and painful clear bulbs formed where heels met shoe. "I apologize for not noticing earlier."

"It's not your fault. Were I a more expert mage, maybe I could levitate, or even warp myself to my room." She muses. "These stairs are going to be the death of me."

Looking between the granite steps beyond and Dorothea's feet, she frowns. They certainly didn't make this campus for the faint of heart, literally--stairs were around every corner of the monastery. Just the thought of Dorothea taking another step in the shoes made her own feet ache. A thought crosses her mind. "I can carry you."

Dorothea's frozen in place, and then she's chuckling. "Silly, I'm complaining for complaining's sake. I'll manage."

Dorothea motions to take a step down the stairs, but Ingrid stands in front of her. "I'm concerned about you. Please, allow me to take care of you tonight."

A beat. Dorothea seems to fight with something behind her green eyes. "Oh Ingrid, you are impossible."

"Do I have permission to carry you?" Ingrid asks.

Golden earrings jingle when Dorothea shakes her head. "The offer is tempting, but I don't know what I'd do if you got hurt."

"I'm strong, Dorothea." Ingrid cheers, hoping she doesn't sound indignant.

There's a moment of silence. When Dorothea blinks again, confidence returns to her gaze. "I can imagine, but I do have a standing concern." She stands up straight, chin level so her eyes peer down at Ingrid. "I'm taller than you. You'd most definitely drop me."

This time, Ingrid knows the color is vibrant on her cheeks. "You are not that much taller than me."

The smile remains on her lips as she steps closer to Ingrid so her back is to the wall. Dorothea stands in front of her, chin high and dark green eyes looking down. "Really?"

She feels small sandwiched between the wall and Dorothea. The sliver of dignity that remained through maintained eye contact was beginning to waver. "It's the heels! You're cheating."

"Are you suggesting you'll be taller if I remove them?" Her eyes bat innocently, though her comment is all too effective.

"Height is independent of the matter in the first place!" Ingrid says, hoping Dorothea doesn't notice how her voice hitches.

"Maybe you're right, but I'm fine. Now be a darling and walk me to my room." It's when Dorothea takes a step back and visibly hold back a wince that Ingrid collects herself. She doesn't miss the way Dorothea's heel doesn't completely reach the floor and the way her knees bend to relieve the pressure. Dorothea barely takes a second step when Ingrid steps forward. She lunges so her arms glide seamlessly around Dorothea's thighs and motions her off her feet. The silky fabric slide against her forearms as Dorothea's body slides into place, her knees and shoulders fitting into the valleys of Ingrid's elbows. Dorothea's arms instinctively wrap around Ingrid's neck as she yelps at the sudden movement.

"I'm carrying you tonight, princess." Ingrid's voice is stern. "You said it was my duty to look out for you." 

The hold on her neck remains firm as Ingrid makes her way down the stairs. "You are full of surprises tonight." Dorothea huffs. "I appreciate the gesture, but you don't have to do this."

Dorothea squirms in her arms, and Ingrid's brows slope downward. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'm just worried about you."

"Oh, no honey, it's not that-" The moonlight dances with the nervousness in Dorothea's eyes. She buries her face in Ingrid's chest, but Ingrid thinks Dorothea's ears are more pink than usual. "It's just, you can put me down if I'm heavy."

A beat. Then the chuckle Ingrid holds back involuntarily slips out.

There's a slap on her arm. "Stop laughing, I'm being serious. I've been dropped before, Ingrid. It's not fun."

"My apologies, I just didn't expect to hear that of all things," she says between sequences of laughs, and Dorothea pushes her face to the side. "Whoever dropped you before skipped too many training days.

Dorothea chuckles for the first time since being lifted. "Alright, but to be fair, this is coming from the girl who never skipped a day of training."

Ingrid hums. "True, but training is important. I can carry you across campus with energy to spare."

"I agree you're strong, but not that strong."

She raises an eyebrow. "I'll gladly prove the point."

She feels Dorothea readjust in her arms to look at Ingrid. There's a moment of silence as Dorothea stares up at her. "Alright, let's up the stakes. Winner gets a favor from the loser."

Ingrid feels lighter on her feet. They were a few steps away from Dorothea's room when Ingrid pivots from the dorm hall and leaps over the elevated stone ledge onto the grass underneath. "You're on, your majesty."

And they journey into the night.

It wasn't in Ingrid to be flashy, but something about the evening teases out the urge to be more than what she usually is, and Ingrid is sprinting. They pass through familiar landmarks that appear foreign cast in the hue of the night. The training ground, classrooms, and stables fly past them, each providing snippets of memories to reminisce upon for just a moment too short. 

All the while, Ingrid wonders if she'll tire around the next corner. Training has blessed her with energy, but even that has limitations. Yet the cool night offers nothing but a refreshing breeze, and Dorothea's laughter is music in her ears, and Ingrid thinks she can run forever. Her feet are light, and the weight in her arm and around her neck is a reminder that Dorothea is with her and the night is young. 

It's not her arms that let out or the arrival at the destination that halts their trip. They're coming around the front gates when chatter carries in the wind. Her pace slows to a brisk walk as she approaches the campus lake. The noise traces back to an area beyond the wall behind the lake--the dining hall. Considering the hour, the last of student and faculty were likely departing from the evening and returning to the dorms. Their company is usually welcome, but the encounter would bring too many questions considering the two supposedly departed to the dorms earlier. With neither feeling an inkling for the extra company, they scan the area for a pit stop. The dock is just out of view from prying eyes, and Ingrid makes the way over.

They arrive at the edge of the dock and Ingrid lowers herself to allow Dorothea to slide off her arms. Ingrid offers her hand as Dorothea steadies herself on the ground, holding her up as she sits at the edge of the dock. Even the lake appeared different at night. The usually bustling dock that usually greets them is silent tonight, and the only indication that the pond is beyond them is the flickering torches in the distance and the smell of fertile soil. The night shades the waterfall from view, but the unmistakable shower whispers in their ears. Legs dangle off the edge of the dock as they absorb the cool breeze and the sound of lapping water.

"The verdict, your majesty?" Ingrid starts, a heavy breath tainting the suave delivery she envisioned. 

"I'm not sure anyone would dispute the results after that," Dorothea says. Ingrid's lowing herself to sit next to Dorothea when an eager hand pulls her down. A surprised Ingrid yelps as she falls into place, her legs dangling over the edge next to the songstress. Much to her surprise, the arm that lead her down hasn't disappeared. Dorothea's arm wrap around Ingrid's right one, interlocking at the elbows as she rests her head on the crook Ingrid's neck. "That is certainly deserving of an award."

"Proving the point was motivation enough," Ingrid says.

"Nonsense, Ingy. If you're going to be stubborn like that, I'll just have to come up with an award myself. Your thoughts on firecrackers outside the classroom that spell your name in blue letters?"

She winces. "I'll give it some thought. Though to be fair, the task isn't one that deserves any elaborate award."

Dorothea hums a curious sound. Fingers from her free arm reach over and grazes over Ingrid's arms, alternating between gentle strokes and curious presses. "You say this when you're absolutely ripped? This isn't a task any ordinary person could pull off the task."

Her arm shifts uneasily in Dorothea's grasp. "A side effect of training I suppose."

The weight on her shoulder disappears and she finds Dorothea looking at her. "I meant that as a compliment, Ingy. I'm trying to say I'm impressed. It's really hot."

The disappointment she felt when Dorothea's head left her shoulder disappears because she's certain her body temperature just rose ten degrees. "Teasing again. Though I suppose it would be wrong to say anything to oppose you tonight."

"I'm excited to exercise my rights." Dorothea chimes. "But I assure you I wasn't teasing."

Her hand instinctively wraps over her body and strokes her arm. "Felix certainly isn't."

A warm hand rests on her knee. "I'll stab Felix in his sleep."

Ingrid snorts at the mental image. "I couldn't risk you getting hurt."

"Well he's getting what he deserves. What did he say to you." Dorothea's hand draws soothing circles on her knees.

"It's not him, just people who I've grown up with. While I don't care much for anyone's opinions in this venue, they did say a woman with muscles is ineligible for marriage."

A hand slides down to connect with Ingrid's. "Well this is my honest opinion and that may just be the most absurd thing I've ever heard."

Ingrid blinks in an effort to clear the insecurity she's sure shines in her eyes. "Is it?"

"Ingrid Galatea, you look beyond presentable. You are absolutely stunning. Downright breathtaking. Unfairly gorgeous-"

She cuts her off. "Understood, Dorothea. No need to continue."

"Ingrid," her voice commands a final time. Warm fingers find their way to Ingrid's cheek and turns her face to look at Dorothea. "You are beautiful." The words come out barely above a whisper and any motivation to rebut the statement melts away when her eyes meet Dorothea's--familiar dark green orbs are warm, green, and enchanting. The world seems to silence around them as the soft glow of the night reflects in her earrings and the moonlight casts a glow on her skin. "Do you understand?"

In an instance, Ingrid's heart swells with a familiar warmth as she stares in front of her. With Dorothea, she felt beautiful, and powerful, and altogether overwhelmed by the overflowing emotions. The woman who enchants hundreds in the pews and stands strong on the battlefield sat in front of her now, looking at her with eyes wide and warm. 

And Ingrid's so captivated by the moment and feelings bubbling over in her chest that she doesn't know who closes the distance first. Warmth graces her lips as Dorothea's own meet hers in a moment that sends a spark down Ingrid's spine. And then it returns again, this time holding it's place in a moment that feels all too much and not enough at the same time. For what feels like an eternity too short, they part. The moment manages to take her breath away and she's staring back at dark green eyes.

"Who's there," a voice sounds behind them. The muscle in her chest that was practically doing somersaults a second before nearly stops in that moment. They pull away from one another enough to see a cloaked figure illuminated by the soft glow of a lantern.

Before Seteth makes his way to the dock, an amorphous figure rushes past him. Dorothea's in Ingrid's arms and they're sprinting back to the dorms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some experts might say, FINALLY.
> 
> Thanks for being patient. I wrote this chapter a while back but was never happy with how it turned out, so the obvious thing to do is bury it in the depths of my laptop and imagine the writing faeries would pick it up and finish it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid sorts her feelings.

The sweet aroma with hints of sharp notes unmistakably resembled a single blend of tea. "I didn't know you to be a berry fan." Both hands are there to receive the hot porcelain that Mercedes gently places in her hands, and she drags the drink close to her chest.

"Oh, I adore it. The flavors are quite exciting in a drink, and I entertain the thought of traveling to where the berries themselves were grown." She's pouring herself a second cup while Ingrid sprinkles sugar into her cup. A renewed tray of warm biscuits is place on the table, and Ingrid knows she's already drooling before she's even tasted the contents.

"I'm sure your company is more than welcome wherever your travels take you. You are an amazing baker." They've grown past the point of formalities, and Ingrid doesn't hesitate to dive into the sweets. Her teeth sink into the puff pastries, and flakes scatter on her tongue, melting into sweet buttery pools. A heavenly sigh escapes her lips.

"Thank you, Ingrid. If you'd like, you can join Annette and I in the kitchen sometime. Despite how she was when she started, she's managed to make muffin batter without the kitchen staff scuttling away."

Ingrid can't help but laugh remembering the campus uproar about a mysterious figure entering the kitchen in the dead of the night. The kitchen was discovered covered in soot and with the strange scent of burnt batter the next morning. Following those rumors, a sleep deprived and sulking Annette gushed about her failed attempt at baking. "That sound wonderful, Mercie. Any time I get to spend away from the guys is a treat."

Mercedes smiles and takes a sip from her tea. "I hear you've been training with Felix lately."

Her head drops back and she releases an exasperated sigh. "Unfortunately, yes. He's a strict as ever, and that's just him making side comments, not instructing."

She nods. "That does sound like him. Has Dorothea busy with reason studies lately?"

A pastry stops midway from the plate to Ingrid's open jaws. "She's offered to train this week, but I haven't met with her."

Mercedes raises a brow. "I thought you prefer her instruction."

A meek Ingrid places her pastry on the plate with a slight nod. "I do. Though I've found it difficult to approach her lately."

Her brows scrunch together and eyes narrow. "Did she do something to you, Ingy?"

Ingrid shakes her head vigorously. "Absolutely not. Dorothea hasn't done anything wrong at all. On the contrary, she's wonderful." Absolutely spectacular. Wickedly stunning. Perfect, even. And that's an understatement. "I've just felt more self-conscious around her, is all.

Mercedes hums. "Has anything happened that made her more difficult to approach?"

Ingrid instinctively sinks in her seat. "Nothing noteworthy. I... we just kissed."

Although her posture and visage suggest no reaction to the news, the teacup she holds slips between her fingers and roll off the table. "I'm sorry?"

Luckily there couldn't have been more than a teaspoon left in the cup, but she offers Mercedes a napkin anyways. "It was nothing, just... a friendly gesture in the heat of the moment."

Mercedes picks up the teacup from the floor and places it on the saucer. "I'm offended. Here I thought we were friends but you never kiss me in the heat of the moment."

Crimson rises to Ingrid's cheeks. "T- that's different! You're a close friend and I treasure you greatly, Mercedes. Normally I don't go around kissing friends."

"What a shame. That would have been nice," she says while refilling her cup.

"Mercedes!" Ingrid accuses.

"I know. I was only kidding," she chuckles, and Ingrid is left to wonder if all her female classmates partake in the pastime of teasing her. "So do you like Dorothea?"

Ingrid shifts in her seat, suddenly feeling her palms sweaty. "I'm not sure. I can confidently attest that I care about her deeply, but I'm not well versed in romance. This feels different from Glenn, but I can't deny that what I feel toward Dorothea is special."

Mercedes hums. "If this is any help, your symptoms do appear to suggest that you like her romantically."

She's holding the teacup in both hands but the liquid inside is shaking. "I can't be sure. My mind wanders to her in idle moments and I can't help but be drawn to her when she's within visible proximity. And I'm always thinking back to that evening when she crosses my mind. What if I've turned into a sinful creature like Sylvain!" Ingrid's face buries in her palms.

For some reason, Mercedes laughs. She doesn't notice when, but Mercedes appears by her side and is stroking her back. "Is that why you've avoided her?"

"It wasn't my intention to avoid her. I thought these feelings would disappear with time so I focused on training. The last thing I'd want is to threaten our friendship with another impulsive action when I haven't even sorted out my own feelings. I'd hate to act upon a shameless impulse on such an important friend."

"There, there. You and Sylvain are two completely different entities, and you certainly aren't causing anyone trouble," she consoles. "I assure you, these thoughts are all normal for someone in love."

She sighs. "Love is terrifying."

"The unknown is terrifying." The gentle hand stroking her back gives shoulder a gentle squeeze.

She draws in her legs from under the table and hugs them. "I don't want to ruin things," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "She's so important to me and I don't want to lose her."

"Oh Ingrid," her voice is soft and she holds Ingrid close. "Have faith in your relationship. I'm sure Dorothea cares about you, and the last thing she'd want is to lose you over something like this."

"I should stop avoiding her," Ingrid concludes.

"Yes." Another squeeze on her shoulder followed by a nod. "Remember, these feelings are your own, and you have full autonomy to treasure them silently or share them with her. Whatever you decide is up to you."

And Ingrid thinks hard about what she wants.

* * *

An entire afternoon and the weekend later, Ingrid finds the courage to speak to Dorothea. She catches the songstress just moments before class, finishing a short performance in front of Edelgard. Thankfully, Dorothea doesn't probe into her half-hearted excuse about an intense training regime and they schedule to meet in the training grounds.

And much too soon, the evening arrives. Ingrid manages to follow through with her invitation to meet Dorothea in the training grounds, curse her careful abidance to the code of knighthood, even if her mind was screaming bloody nemesis.

Today Dorothea is there first, and somehow Ingrid manages to go through the motions of a normal greeting.

"I thought you'd grown tired of me as a training partner and ran off to Felix." Dorothea pouts, and Ingrid realizes how long it's been since she's been greeted by the lull of Dorothea's voice.

A laugh escapes her chest. She takes the spot next to Dorothea, stretching alongside her. "Please, I'd prefer you over him any evening."

Ingrid expects a tease, but it doesn't come. "After meeting Felix in person, I understand where you're coming from. Somehow he manages to scowl more than you."

At this, Ingrid frowns. "I do not scowl that much."

Dorothea's arms are crossed over one another to stretch her shoulder, but Ingrid makes out the curious brow that raises at the comment. "Really? Even though when you do so upon hearing Sylvain's name and every time someone breaches a knight code and when someone spills food in the dining-"

"Ok, point taken. I scowl a lot," Ingrid interjects before she can find out how much hotter her ears can get.

A smile graces Dorothea's lips as she stretches, and Ingrid has to remind herself not to stare. "You do. And you should be wary too of it too or you'll end up with Felix's reputation."

Ingrid hunches over with a sigh as she touches her toes. "My reputation was tarnished when Sylvain began looping me into his conquests. It can't get worse."

"Status update--any headaches in the past week?" She asks.

"Surprisingly no, which just means there's definitely a storm coming." Her back straightens out and Ingrid rubs her shoulders. "Is post-production life treating you well?"

Dorothea hums as she makes her way to the wooden sword rack. "I'm glad to be rid of Ferdinand's presence, but I do miss performing."

"Not to worry, you have plenty of opportunities for his presence to grace you during class," she jests. Dorothea responds by tossing her a wooden sword, and Ingrid catches the staff mid-air.

"Someone's sassy today. Eager for a beating, I assume?" Dorothea assumes an attack stance.

No, just eager to be spending time with you again, she thinks. Goddess she's been reading too many books. "No, just eager to spar."

They've spent a week apart, but each movement is familiar. Wooden swords greet each other at the center of each jab in a pattern that unconsciously formed. Their blades dance against each other in gentle strikes.

It doesn't take long before they're engrossed in their movements. While Dorothea is the acclaimed swordswoman of the two, Ingrid's lengthy practices has earned her a place as a worthy sparring partner. Sweat begins dripping down her temple as she's tracing the more fervent attacks.

They're sparring now, and Ingrid knows the steps of their improvised dance. She reads her strikes like she knows Dorothea is reading hers. An attack, a dodge, a block. A handful of times, Dorothea's sword grazes Ingrid's skin while Ingrid can only boast about close attempts at striking.

The moment is short, but Dorothea's body hold still for just a second after striking. Ingrid is usually freshly dodging the attack which gives little opportunity for returning the attack, but the opportunity is there and Ingrid isn't one to let opportunities fall through.

This time, Dorothea strikes, and Ingrid forgoes her usual lunge and steps a side just enough to evade the attack. She pivots so she's facing a now lunging Dorothea's shoulder. Ingrid ducks so her face is level with Dorothea's as she readies to strike.

She doesn't doesn't expect Dorothea to see her, but n the next second, Dorothea's shoulder rams into Ingrid's nose, and she topples over her. She hears her sword bouncing away from the impact as she falls on her back.

She groans, finally finding the energy to open her eyes. "Unfair."

Dorothea is breathing heavily on top of her, and then she's laughing. "That was so fun! I thought I've seen it all, but you're full of surprises."

Something about how bright Dorothea was smiling was made it hard to stay fixated on her near win. She hopes Dorothea doesn't see past her half-hearted sigh. "I take from my teacher, I suppose."

Dorothea's smile doesn't falter. "I sure hope you don't. That looked like it hurt."

Ingrid winces. "It did. I think my nose is broken."

"You're exaggerating. Let me see," Dorothea says, cradling Ingrid's face in one hand and looking at Ingrid's nose. The sight makes her lightheaded. Dorothea's face is close, and her brain tortures her with the feeling of Dorothea's lips on hers.

And Ingrid makes the mistake of meeting Dorothea's eyes, which are staring back, wide and wonderful. Her heart skips a beat in the moment that feels all too familiar.

Suddenly, green light fills her vision and Ingrid's head falls back. When her eyes readjust to the normal vibrancy of the world, she see's Dorothea on her feet, an outstretched hand with glowing fingertips from casting a heal spell. "There. Your nose is fine."

When Ingrid takes her hand, she comes to a decision. Next time, she decides, she will tell Dorothea.

* * *

Ingrid is leaving her dorm to the training ground when a passing Edelgard shares that Dorothea's is occupied in her room. It's hardly her business, but she's still at the dorms and Dorothea's room isn't far.

The door is ajar when she arrives, and there's more rustling than usual on the other side. Her brows furrow as she knocks.

The rustling continues until the fourth knock. "Yes," the voice comes out in a strained heave. There's caution laced in her tone.

"May I come in?" Ingrid says from beyond the door.

Ingrid winces at the sound of a crashing thud from inside. "Oh, Ingrid. Yes, though watch your step on your way in."

She inadvertently peeked through the crack in the door, but seeing the room in it's whole was a different experience entirely. Colorful boxes litter the floor and silky ribbons occupy every surface of furniture. Dorothea stands in the center of it all, hair tousled and skin glistening with sweat. A wooden crate no taller than Dorothea's knees sit at her feet, which Ingrid surmises is the culprit of the crash earlier. "What is all this?" Ingrid asks, tip-toeing through the scattered items toward the center.

"The troupe thought it was a good idea to hoard gifts addressed to yours truly and send them back in bulk when they couldn't keep them anymore. Honestly I'm not sure they know the definition of courtesy." Ingrid nudges Dorothea to the side and takes her spot in front of the crate. The songstress fans herself as she watches Ingrid resume her role of undoing the iron nails keeping the lid shut.

"Your opera troupe?" Ingrid inquires through a grunt. The nails are stubborn, and Ingrid finds herself propping a knee on the lid to steady herself in prying the metal pieces out. "You left them when you attended the academy, correct?"

She sees Dorothea nod from the corner of her eye. "I did. Alas news isn't expedited as gossip is and these gifts are from audience members who still believe I'm affiliated with the opera. Though I suspect this isn't everything--they definitely kept the best for themselves." Her brows knit when she speaks. There's a handful of colorful paper stuffed under her arm as she reads the packaging on a dainty bag lined with silver foil.

"They think they're slick but this one's clearly opened, though for a good reason. Try one." Dorothea motions to hand the bag to Ingrid. Seeing that the other girl's hands were occupied, she takes a dark orb from the bag and between her fingers and holds it in front of Ingrid. It's no bigger than a coin, but an intoxicating sweet aroma fills the space around the orb. Ingrid's careful to transfer the delicacy from Dorothea's fingers onto her tongue.

What appeared solid between Dorothea's fingers melt upon contact with Ingrid's warm tongue. A satisfied moan leaves her throat as a thick rush of rich cocoa transports her. "Is it legal for something to be so delicious?"

"There's more where that came from." Dorothea says, unearthing presents from colorful paper and ribbons. She locates a box sitting on rubble that may have been a bed at some point in time and removes the lid. What looks like rows of multi-colored mini-sandwiches pack snugly from end to end. Dorothea picks one from the group, a pale yellow that smells of sharp citrus when brought to Ingrid's lips. Just as carefully, she removes the snack from Dorothea's fingers.

There's a crunch when her molars sink into the snack, but the remainder of the good is soft and chewy. Sweet citrus floods her mouth as the confectionery takes over her palette. "These are spectacular, Dorothea. Whoever gifted these deserves a thanks."

Dorothea takes a pink one between her fingers, eyes the outside, and pops it in her mouth. "They are delicious. Maybe their name is written on the wrapping paper somewhere."

Ingrid pries another nail out with a grunt. "I'd think it's polite to know the gifter of such delicious snacks."

The loud screech of another nail coming loose masks Dorothea's sigh. "I suppose so. I'll get better at remembering gifts from my suitors from now on."

The metal bar freezes in place on the nail as Ingrid wipes sweat away with her wrist. "Suitors? I thought these gifts were from your fans."

There's a loud scrunch as Dorothea compresses a variety of colored paper in her hands and tosses them into a bin. "There are fans, and there are incessant fans with an agenda to pursue. These more expensive gifts usually come from a similar handful of nobles with nothing better to do."

"I see," Ingrid says. The lingering sweetness from the confectioneries leave a sour taste in her mouth as she pries out the final nail. The metal piece comes off with a pop, and the lid shifts in the aftermath of the nail being removed. Ingrid steps aside as Dorothea maneuvers through the room to the front of the box and removes the cover.

The contents practically glowed. Colorful boxes in a variety of shapes line the top layer of the box, each delicately wrapped with reflective paper and accompanied by a card with paragraphs of beautiful swirling letters. Those that lacked wrapping displayed grandiose jewels, garments, and accessories boldly showcased in glass containers lined with gold.

"Courteous of them to send the items in three crates. Removing those is a workout in and of itself." Dorothea picks a box from the masses, tearing at the wrapping to unveil a card and a box of delicacies not unlike the previous ones. "Payment in pastries acceptable?"

The sweet scent of buttery pastries fill the air as Dorothea takes a flaky dessert between her fingers. In any other circumstance, Ingrid wouldn't hesitate to lunge for the baked good, but her feet are glued to the ground. "I've never had desserts like this in Galatea."

Dorothea's eyes light up. "Well I'm glad I have the honor of treating you! I think I saw some more in the bottom of the crate that you might enjoy."

Despite the sweet scent of pastry wafting in the air, she feels nauseous. "No thanks," and she's cursing herself when her voice cracks.

The fancy box of pasties are placed aside. "What's wrong?" Dorothea asks in a voice that's painfully gentle. "Were they that bad?"

Ingrid shakes her head, cursing herself silently for her unbecoming conduct. "Goddess, I'm sorry."

"It's alright if you don't like them, I would never think I'll of you for disliking them." Warm hands find their way to either side of Ingrid's shoulder and a concerned Dorothea looks on.

"It's not that," Ingrid releases a shaky breathe. Her heart aches when she meets the forest green eyes she's grown too fond of. She presses the palm of her hand to her eyes in an attempt to shy away from Dorothea's gaze. "I'm just so stupid. I was so swept up in these illusory ideas about romance that I forgot marriage really is. It's all just a means toward securing a future."

Dorothea's brows scrunch. "What are you saying?"

"You deserve the most wonderful cuisine and the grandest estate in Foldlan. I'm just a half-baked knight from a poor noble family getting ahead of myself, and I forgot my place." Her vision is blurring, but the words are pouring out faster than her tears. She wants to run, but she knows the damage is already done. "I should never have discovered these feelings. I should never have kissed you that night."

She feels the hands tighten around her arms but she's too afraid to see the expression on Dorothea's face.

"I should never have fallen in love with you," she exhales in a shaky breath.

A beat, then Ingrid stumbles back as a pair of arms wrap around her neck. "Oh goddess. I thought I messed things up between us. I thought you were disgusted and left for good." Dorothea's voice is quiet and quick, but she speaks in Ingrid's collar and Ingrid doesn't miss a word. "I thought I lost you."

Ingrid's mind is scrambling, but she's clinging onto Dorothea with a desperation she didn't know she had. "I'm sorry for making you worry."

"You best be sorry. Do you have any idea how troubled I was?" Dorothea chides, and she pulls back just enough so the arm not draped over Ingrid's shoulder is holding her cheek. "You know I love you too, right?"

A short-lived moment of silence is interrupted when Ingrid stumbled backwards on a cluster of discarded pages. "Wait, Dorothea. I'm not wealthy like these other suitors. You know Galatea's land is infertile and we barely have enough to feed. I'm not the most viable candidate for you."

"Do you think I'm so shallow as to only consider a persons wealth?" Dorothea chides.

"I- I didn't mean it like that," Ingrid says, her voice meek.

"I'm mature enough to decide on my own who I'd like to be with." Dorothea's voice is stern. "I'd give away this whole room full of gifts a thousand times over for the chance to be with you."

Her heart flutters in a way she didn't know was possible. "You're not teasing, are you?"

"I never was." Dorothea huffs. "You're infuriatingly dense, you know?"

"I'm sorry." She says, her eyes cast on the ground.

The palm on her cheek slides under her chin so Ingrid is looking into Dorothea's eyes. "And stop apologizing for everything."

"I'm- ... I understand." She says. She's looking at those tender forests eyes for the first time in what feels like eternity, and Ingrid's heart aches over all the time she lost not seeing Dorothea.

"I missed you so much," she says, her voice low and sweet. Ingrid's heart swells at the words.

"I missed you too," she echoes. Their faces are close, and Ingrid's chest beats heavily against her ribcage. She can almost taste the intoxicating berry pastries left on Dorothea's lips as they draw closer

"W-wait a second," Ingrid pulls back, her wrist resting on her lips at the near contact. The other hand is haphazardly poised at Dorothea's shoulder, putting her at arms length.

"You don't want to?" Her gaze is steady at Ingrid's eyes as she places a kiss at her palm. Ingrid's not sure how she hasn't fainted yet.

Ingrid retracts her hand despite the flames creeping on her cheek. "Of course, I- yes, I do."

"Then, why don't we," Dorothea says. Ingrid impulsively steps back when Dorothea closes the distance between them.

Ingrid manages to speak despite the thumping in her chest with Dorothea so close. "Remember our wager on the evening of the opera?"

Dorothea blinks. "Of course. What of it?"

"We agreed that winner gets a favor, and I've decided on one. Id like to start over." Silence takes over the room, and Ingrid understands this as a moment to continue. "'I've done a number of things that were insensitive and certainly must have caused no small amount of heartache. The last thing I want to do is put our relationship at risk over my own idiocy. You're very important to me, and I don't want to lose you. So, if it's possible, can we start things slow?"

A pause, and then Dorothea takes a step back. This time, she doesn't miss the pink blossoming on Dorothea's cheeks. "You know, you can just make it up by kissing me."

"We can consider that over dinner tonight, if you'd like," Ingrid says, and she knows her cheeks are red.

Dorothea's eyes beam. "Then we must get going as soon as possible! The more time for the date the better."

"Hold on, lets finish cleaning your room," Ingrid starts.

"We can pick things up later, I have a cute date and I don't want to miss it," Dorothea says, and she's already wading through the sea of discarded paper.

"Dorothea wait. Don't just jump into things-"

For the first time since Ingrid attended Gareg Mach, she misses training.

* * *

The book is open in front of her, but Ingrid can barely read any of the words. She's been on the same page of Knights of Vulgate the third since the clock last chimed to announce the hour. Two nights passed since their first official date. Somehow Ingrid and Dorothea managed to clean the room and find ample time to explore the city, and Ingrid finds butterflies in her stomach just remembering the evening. Since then, they've spent time dining and sparring, but nothing that Ingrid could explicitly call a date. They were students first and foremost, which meant every waking hour was spent slaving away to the professor's learning goals, leaving hardly any time other activities.

But as they discover, both share the evening habit of reading. Ingrid engrosses herself in novels Dorothea flips through news of the latest operas, and what better way to spend the evening than to do so with a companion.

There's a knock on the door, and Ingrid practically sprints to greet the guest.

Her grin turns into a frown the second the door is open. "Leave."

"Aww, don't be like that," Sylvain sings, struggling to keep the door open as Ingrid pushes the opening close. "You looked so happy to see me for a second."

"In your dreams. Go to your room," she grunts between her teeth, pushing against the 80 kilograms of pure idiocy.

"I would, but my hands are strapped tonight. You see, I was enjoying a lovely evening with the baker's daughter when some girls I haven't seen in months threatened us, and now they're all in front of my room! You wouldn't mind a handsome companion tonight, would you?" He speaks in between grunts and vocalizes his thoughts through the opening in the door.

"No, Sylvain. I have plans," she grunts.

"Oh, don't worry. I won't bother you reading your knight novels, except for when I do."

"I'm plans, and you're interrupting." Ingrid recognizes the smooth voice even from behind the door.

She opens the door to see a stunned Sylvain looking at Dorothea. "Apologies for the interruption, Dorothea. I didn't expect him this evening."

"No worries, Ingy. This is completely out of your control." The songstress walks through the door, dropping off some books before slipping her arms around Ingrid's waist.

The brief silence is interrupted when Sylvain slaps the palm of his hand to his forehead. "No. I'm dreaming. This is definitely a dream. Tell me I'm dreaming."

"I'll gladly slap you for a reality check," Ingrid says, and she would have proceeded to if Dorothea's hand wasn't holding her arm.

"Wow, this is real." Both his hands rest on his temple as he gazes ahead with blank eyes. "Just to be clear, this isn't a one time thing where you're experimenting?"

"Dorothea, please let me hit him. Just once." If the loosened grip on her arm was any indication, Dorothea was tempted to let her do so, but alas the grip held, and so must Ingrid.

"Not a one time thing. Ok, just checking." He leans against the door frame for support. "Since when?"

She sighs. "A few days ago," Ingrid answers.

His eyes widen and he holds his chest in a dramatic gesture. "You'd withhold such critical information from your childhood friend for several moons? You wound me."

"I was meaning to share the information at our usual lunches with Felix and Dimitri, but I see you're as impatient as ever. And also just as irresponsible. How do you always find yourselves in these situations?" An accusing finger points at him, as it usually finds itself doing when talking to this irritating species. Dorothea's gentle hand is the only thing stopping her from drilling her finger into his chest

"Woah there, easy on the nagging." His hands are raised to his ears, palms facing Ingrid in an effort to gain some ounce of mercy. "I'm happy for you, really. I just wasn't expecting it for a while."

At this, Ingrid blinks. "For a while?"

"Knowing the you to be the square you are, I thought I'd get free reign to your room till at least the next season. But looks like I owe Dimitri lunch." He shakes his head.

The color drains from her face. "Dimitri?"

"Felix was in on it too, but we didn't get any bets from him. You haven't been able to stop gushing about her for the past few months. And don't get me started on the eyes you make when you see her on campus."

Suddenly Ingrid's ears are hot and she's too mortified to find out the expression Dorothea's making. "You're insufferable," she manages.

"We've thoroughly enjoyed your company, but I believe you have guests waiting for you, no?" Dorothea says, saving Ingrid from further embarrassment.

"There really is no courtesy left in this world." Sylvain's head drops and he swipes at alligator tears. "You really live up to your name, Mrs. Heartbreaker."

"Sylvain!" Ingrid chides, but Dorothea squeezes her arm for reassurance.

"You're really saying that when you have girls outside your room as we speak?" She's smiling, but the ice in her voice is enough for Ingrid to feel a chill in her spine.

"They're just friends. But I have to know--what's a girl like you doing with Ingrid? Aren't there guys out there willing to buy you an entire estate?" She's known Sylvain was taller than her, but he's so dumb she never noticed how he towers over most people. Standing here with his arms against the door frame, some might call him intimidating.

"I used to think I needed an estate. Now I have everything I need, and I don't plan on letting it go." Dorothea's hands slide onto Ingrid's shoulders and hold firmly. She can't help but feel her cheeks flush. Ingrid knows she's the shortest of the three, but somehow the conversation makes her feel tiny.

Sylvain maintains a steady gaze on Dorothea, who returns the stare with the same intensity. Finally his shoulder slump. "Bummer. An estate would be a nice place to hide out tonight."

"You're in luck. I know a few girls who might be interested in your company," she grins.

His eyes widen. "Do tell."

"There are girls who have been waiting for someone like you at the stables. I hear Hazel's been getting pretty restless at night too." She winks at him for effect.

He grimaces. "You two are spending too much time together."

"Don't be too jealous. You guys can have her for lunch, but she's mine right tonight." Ingrid wonders if they know she's standing at the door with them at this moment.

"I can take a hint. It's past my bedtime anyways." He takes a step back and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Congrats you two. Take care of Ingrid, and if she ever comes running to us, know that the future king Dimitri is our good friend." He already walking off before Ingrid can give him an earful.

"He's quite lively, isn't he," Dorothea says, shutting the door behind him.

"Sorry he's so nosy. One second he's snooping into my room for refuge and next he's interrogating you." How his brain operates, Ingrid doesn't think she'll ever find understand, or want to find out for that matter. "Honestly I hope he doesn't bother Felix or we're all getting an earful this week."

"I doubt it. It seems he's just checking up on you." Dorothea says, grabbing articles about the opera she discarded earlier.

Ingrid laughs, plucking a worn novel from her nightstand. "We're talking about the same person, right? I highly doubt he has an ounce of courtesy."

"You say this, but I didn't see anyone loitering outside his room tonight. It may have been a bluff to stop by." Dorothea takes a seat on the bed and pats the seat next to her. "Do you think I'll need to carry a sword with me tomorrow?"

Ingrid tilts her head, taking a seat next to Dorothea. "Why do you ask?"

"In preparation of Felix asking for a duel to test my worth."

"That's absurd, he wouldn't do that." Ingrid snorts. A pause. "Though it wouldn't hurt to bring a sword." Sometimes she doesn't understand why she continues to spend time with the people she does. "Maybe I'll bring my lance too. Lately Edelgard looks like she wants my head."

Dorothea winces. "That might be my fault. Edie has been on the receiving end of my woes, so I'm not sure how she'll react to the news."

Her ears perk. "Your woes? Did something happen?"

Dorothea bites her lower lip to conceal a smile. "Oh, nothing much. I've just told her about a troublesome stable partner and a classmate ignoring me for a week."

Her brows furrow. "This all makes sense now. Remind me to write my will before class tomorrow."

A warm hand reaches for hers and pats her gently. "There, there. We can see one another in the infirmary and spend our final moments together. Isn't that romantic?"

"Somehow the idea of meeting my end at the hands of our classmates is gruesome," Ingrid says. Her eyes are cast on the ground. "And I'm sorry for the trouble I'm always causing."

"What did I say about apologizing." Her voice is stern and she pinches Ingrid's cheek.

"Uaff, I leauned my lessohn," Ingrid flails. She holds her cheek when a merciful Dorothea releases. "I will make it up to you."

"With a kiss?" Dorothea asks, and Ingrid pushes her face away.

"Must you always jump to that conclusion," Ingrid chides, though her cheeks are warm. "I mean through time and effort."

The bed bounces when Dorothea falls back on the mattress. "Serious as ever, Ingy. Though I do like that about you."

After all this time, she thinks that she'd be used to the casual compliments, but alas her face is aflame. "I'm not serious. You're just too easygoing. And this lax attitude is what has people leaving gifts for you and I'm having to clean them up for you. You should inform your troupe to update your status at the opera already."

"But you must admit, the gifts are quite tasty," Dorothea says, eyes closing at the memories of the sweet delicacies.

"They're alright," Ingrid mumbles. She see's Dorothea smirking on the corner of her eye. Then there's a tug on her arm as she's pulled down to the bed alongside Dorothea.

"You're just too cute." She says, wrapping her arm around Ingrid's neck. "If it's any reassurance, your gift is my favorite."

"Gift?" Ingrid repeats. Then her eyes widen. "I thought you gave the ring to the professor?"

"I did," she says as Ingrid wiggles from Dorothea's grasp to face her while they're both laying down. "But Byleth approached me later to return the ring to me," she says.

Ingrid flops on her back with a sigh. "Oh goddess. I though you didn't like it. I wouldn't know how to face my mother if she learned I gave her goddess ring away and it ended up in the school inventory."

A pause. "Did you just say it was your mother's goddess ring?"

Ingrid nods. "Is that odd?"

Dorothea covers her face with her hands. "Sothis, give me strength." She sighs. "Believe me, I love it. But I was upset when I learned it was just a gift, so I gave it away in retaliation. Now I'm not sure how I'll ever face your parents."

For some reason, the thought of Dorothea meeting her parents makes her heart flutter. "I think you'd get along. Mother will finally have someone to discuss make-up with. My father may be the difficult one."

"Because I'm an orphaned commoner?" Her cheery expression is unwavering, but Ingrid doesn't miss the way her voice falters.

"I choose to be a knight despite his wishes, so regardless of his opinions, I'm choosing to be with you," Ingrid says. She reaches for Dorothea's hand and squeezes. "And if he has anything against it, he can speak to my lance."

A shaky laugh escapes Dorothea's lips and she presses her head to Ingrid's. "Amongst the noble's I've met, you stand out as one of the strangest."

Her chin tucks into her chest timidly. "Am I that odd?"

"Absolutely. Has anyone ever heard of a noble renouncing their role to rule in favor of knighthood? And choosing a commoner when you had marriage proposals laid out before you."

"Dorothea," she growls. This time, Ingrid knows she's the one to close the distance. Her lips move forward to meet Dorothea's, and they're as soft and sweet as she remembers. She lingers for just a moment before parting, and she can feel the electricity tingling on her lips when she's looking at Dorothea's wide eyes. Her fingers intertwine with Dorothea's fingers and she caresses the back of her hand with the pad of her thumb. "I was privileged to be born a noble, but the path I choose to walk is one I must carve myself. I want to be a knight, and I want you to be there with me on this path. Is that really odd?"

She doesn't miss the glow on Dorothea's cheeks before she burrows into Ingrid's chest, tugging on her nightgown. "Yes, it's absolutely foreign, though I suppose there's no harm in that."

Something about being with Dorothea made it impossible not to smile. Seeing her clinging onto Ingrid with ears tinted crimson, she could understand why Dorothea was so fond of teasing. A familiar flame graces her fingertips. Tonight, she indulges in her curiosity, and she pulls Dorothea close to her chest. Her warm body pushes against Ingrid's, and she feels her pulse quicken just thinking about the songstress soft skin flush against her own. She hopes Dorothea's can't hear her heart beating.

And as with most things that are nice, they're interrupted by the chime of the distant bell marking the hour.

They sit up haphazardly, both as if caught in an act that could only lead to reprimanding. "It's later than I thought. To think we got so much reading accomplished," Dorothea says, eyes focused on smoothing out her gown.

"Right..." Ingrid says absentmindedly. "Oh yes, we were reading."

Dorothea's smirking. "Anything interesting in your book?"

She pushes Dorothea's shoulders with her own. "Please. Probably only as interesting as your articles."

"I'd stay up all night reading with you, but I assume you'd like your rest before class tomorrow," Dorothea says. She stands up, patting at her night gown.

"Right," she responds. She rises slowly. "If you'd like, you're more than welcome to stay over tonight."

The room is quiet. "Are you sure?"

Ingrid nods. "I know it's not a long walk, but I'd feel bad making you walk to your room in the dark. Though I completely understand if you prefer the comfort of your own bed." She barely finishes before Dorothea takes Ingrid by the hand and pulls her onto the bed.

"I'd love to stay," she says. In the candlelit evening bedroom, her smile was dangerously bright.

She knows her cheeks are glowing. "But um, in line with taking things slow, I just want to make sure-"

"I'm just sleeping here tonight. No funny business." She takes Ingrid's hand in both of hers.

Ingrid nods. "Thank you."

"Is it too much to ask for a kiss before bed?" Dorothea asks softly.

Ingrid averts her eyes. "You can, I mean, no, it's not too much."

A smile. Dorothea leans into Ingrid's lips, this time short and sweet, but the butterflies are abundant in Ingrid's chest.

They pull away, and Ingrid see's Dorothea, eyes warm and smile wide. She knows she's reflecting the same features.

Dorothea snaps her fingers, and the candles go dim. They climb into bed together, ready for the new dawn that awaits them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for being here through this journey and sticking with me through all these irregular updates and typos. Shoutout to MakaS0ul for being there at each chapter to show some love. Thank you everyone who's left a comment and a kudos--you're my motivation to keep writing.
> 
> Until next time!


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